"I    LAID   THE    SCENE   AT    LAKEWOOD  " 


A    REBELLIOUS    HEROINE 
a  Storg 


BY 

JOHN  KENDRICK  BANGS 

ILLUSTRATED 
BY   W.  T.  SMEDLEY 


NEW     YORK 

HARPER  &   BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
1896 


BY  JOHN    KENDRICK   BANGS. 

THE    BICYCLERS,   AND   THREE   OTHER    FARCES. 

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TO 

A.  H.  B. 


312775 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I.  STUART  HARLEY  :   REALIST  .    .    . 

II.  A  PRELIMINARY  TRIAL 26 

III.  THE  RECONSTRUCTION  BEGINS  ...     50 

IV.  A    CHAPTER    FROM    HARLEY,    WITH 

NOTES 72 

V.  AN  EXPERIMENT 95 

VI.  ANOTHER  CHAPTER  FROM  HARLEY     .  115 

VII.  A  BREACH  OF  FAITH 144 

VIII.  HARLEY  RETURNS  TO  THE  FRAY    .     .170 

IX.  A  SUMMONS  NORTH 191 

X.  BY  WAY  OF  EPILOGUE 214 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"I   LAID   THE   SCENE   AT   LAKEWOOD  "     .  Frontispiece 
"'  AM   I   A   MERE   MARIONETTE  ?'".      .       .Facing p.  28 

A  REBELLIOUS  HEROINE "  38 

HE  WENT  INTO  ONE  OF  HIS  TRANCES   .  "  56 
"THE  DARK  EYES  OF  COUNT  BONETTI 

FLASHED" "  92 

THE  WALK  ON  THE  CLIFF "  136 

"  I  AM  NOT  GOING  TO  TELL  THE  WHOLE 

STORY" "     222 

"THEY  THOUGHT  i  OUGHT  TO  GIVE  UP 

HUMOR" "     224 


A  REBELLIOUS  HEROINE 


STUART  HARLEY:   REALIST 

"  — if  a  'word  could  save  me,  and  that  word 
were  not  the  Truth,  nay,  if  it  did  but  swerve  a 
hair  s-breadth  from  the  Truth,  I  would  not 

say  it  /"  —LONGFELLOW. 

»,*•'>'    •          ., - ,  • » •» 

STUART  HARTLEY;  despite  his  author 
ship  of  manyuVjiovQl$;'stilj.;coQr,idered 
himself  a  realist.  He  affected  to  say 
that  he  did  not  write  his  books ;  that 
he  merely  transcribed  them  from  life 
as  he  saw  it,  and  he  insisted  always 
that  he  saw  life  as  it  was. 


2  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

"The  mission  of  the  novelist,  my 
dear  Professor,"  he  had  once  been  heard 
to  say  at  his  club,  "  is  not  to  amuse 
merely ;  his  work  is  that  of  an  historian, 
and  he  should  be  quite  as  careful  to 
write  truthfully  as  is  the  historian.  How 
is  the  future  to  know  what  manner 
of  lives  we  nineteenth  century  people 
have  lived  unless  our  novelists  tell  the 
truth?" 

"  Possibly  the  historians  will  tell 
them,"  observed  the  Professor  of  Mathe 
matics..-  " .Historians  .sometimes  do  tell 
us  interesting  t'hhig's/' "  '" 

";tr^'r^B:Hirldy,';.  f;  Very  true; 
but  then  what  historian  ever  let  you 
into  the  secret  of  the  every-day  life  of 
the  people  of  whom  he  writes?  What 
historian  ever  so  vitalized  Louis  the 
Fourteenth  as  Dumas  has  vitalized 


Stuart  Harley:  Realist  3 

him  ?  Truly,  in  reading  mere  history 
I  have  seemed  to  be  reading  of  lay 
figures,  not  of  men;  but  when  the  nov 
elist  has  taken  hold  properly — ah,  then 
we  get  the  men." 

"Then,"  objected  the  Professor, "the 
novelist  is  never  to  create  a  great  char 
acter?" 

"  The  humorist  or  the  mere  romancer 
may,  but  as  for  the  novelist  with  a  true 
ideal  of  his  mission  in  life  he  would 
better  leave  creation  to  nature.  It  is 
blasphemy  for  a  purely  mortal  being  to 
pretend  that  he  can  create  a  more  inter 
esting  character  or  set  of  characters  than 
the  Almighty  has  already  provided  for 
the  use  of  himself  and  his  brothers  in 
literature ;  that  he  can  involve  these 
creations  in  a  more  dramatic  series  of 
events  than  it  has  occurred  to  an  all- 


4  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

wise  Providence  to  put  into  the  lives  of 
His  creatures  ;  that,  by  the  exercise  of 
that  misleading  faculty  which  the  writer 
styles  his  imagination,  he  can  portray 
phases  of  life  which  shall  prove  of  more 
absorbing  interest  or  of  greater  moral 
value  to  his  readers  than  those  to  be 
met  with  in  the  every-day  life  of  man 
as  he  is." 

"Then,"  said  the  Professor,  with  a 
dexterous  jab  of  his  cue  at  the  pool- 
balls —  "then,  in  your  estimation,  an 
author  is  a  thing  to  be  led  about  by 
the  nose  by  the  beings  he  selects  for 
use  in  his  books?" 

"You  put  it  in  a  rather  homely 
fashion,"  returned  Harley ;  "but,  on 
the  whole,  that  is  about  the  size  of 
it." 

"And  all  a  man  needs,  then,  to  be  an 


Stuart  Harley:  Realist  5 

author  is  an  eye  and  a  type-writing  ma 
chine?"  asked  the  Professor. 

"And  a  regiment  of  detectives," 
drawled  Dr.  Kelly,  the  young  surgeon, 
"  to  follow  his  characters  about." 

Harley  sighed.  Surely  these  men 
were  unsympathetic.  * 

"  I  can't  expect  you  to  grasp  the  idea 
exactly,"  he  said,  "  and  I  can't  explain 
it  to  you,  because  you'd  become  irrev 
erent  if  I  tried." 

"  No,  we  won't,"  said  Kelly.  "  Go  on 
and  explain  it  to  us — I'm  bored,  and 
want  to  be  amused." 

So  Harley  went  on  and  tried  to  ex 
plain  how  the  true  realist  must  be  an  in 
spired  sort  of  person,  who  can  rise  above 
purely  physical  limitations ;  whose  eye 
shall  be  able  to  pierce  the  most  impene 
trable  of  veils ;  to  whom  nothing  in  the 


6  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

way  of  obtaining  information  as  to  the 
doings  of  such  specimens  of  mankind 
as  he  has  selected  for  his  pages  is  an 
insurmountable  obstacle. 

"  Your  author,  then,  is  to  be  a  mixt 
ure  of  a  New  York  newspaper  reporter 
and  the  Recording  Angel?"  suggested 
Kelly. 

"  I  told  you  you'd  become  irreverent," 
said  Harley;  "nevertheless,  even  in  your 
irreverence,  you  have  expressed  the  idea. 
The  writer  must  be  omniscient  as  far  as 
the  characters  of  his  stories  are  con- 
cerned — he  must  have  an  eye  which 
shall  see  all  that  they  do,  a  mind  suffi 
ciently  analytical  to  discern  what  their 
motives  are,  and  the  courage  to  put  it 
all  down  truthfully,  neither  adding  nor 
subtracting,  coloring  only  where  color  is 
needed  to  make  the  moral  lesson  he  is 


Stuart  Harley:  Realist  7 

trying  to  teach  stand  out  the  more  viv 
idly." 

"  In  short,  you'd  have  him  become  a 
photographer,"  said  the  Professor. 

"  More  truly  a  soulscape-painter,"  re 
torted  Harley,  with  enthusiasm. 

"  Heavens !"  cried  the  Doctor,  drop 
ping  his  cue  with  a  loud  clatter  to  the 
floor.  "  Soulscape  !  Here's  a  man  talk 
ing  about  not  creating,  and  then  throws 
out  an  invention  like  soulscape !  Har 
ley,  you  ought  to  write  a  dictionary. 
With  a  word  like  soulscape  to  start  with, 
it  would  sweep  the  earth  !" 

Harley  laughed.  He  was  a  good- 
natured  man,  and  he  was  strong  enough 
in  his  convictions  not  to  weaken  for  the 
mere  reason  that  somebody  else  had  rid 
iculed  them.  In  fact,  everybody  else 
might  have  ridiculed  them,  and  Harley 


8  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

would  still  have  stood  true,  once  he  was 
convinced  that  he  was  right. 

"  You  go  on  sawing  people's  legs  off, 
Billy,"  he  said,  good-naturedly.  "  That's 
a  thing  you  know  about ;  and  as  for  the 
Professor,  he  can  go  on  showing  you  and 
the  rest  of  mankind  just  why  the  short 
est  distance  between  two  points  is  in  a 
straight  line.  I'll  take  your  collective 
and  separate  words  for  anything  on  the 
subject  of  surgery  or  mathematics,  but 
when  it  comes  to  my  work  I  wouldn't 
bank  on  your  theories  if  they  were  en 
dorsed  by  the  Rothschilds." 

"  He'll  never  write  a  decent  book  in 
his  life  if  he  clings  to  that  theory," 
said  Kelly,  after  Harley  had  departed. 
"  There's  precious  little  in  the  way  of 
the  dramatic  nowadays  in  the  lives  of 
people  one  cares  to  read  about." 


Stuart  Harley:  Realist  9 

Nevertheless,  Harley  had  written  inter 
esting  books,  books  which  had  brought 
him  reputation,  and  what  is  termed  gen 
teel  poverty — that  is  to  say,  his  fame 
was  great,  considering  his  age,  and  his 
compensation  was  just  large  enough  to 
make  life  painful  to  him.  His  income 
enabled  him  to  live  well  enough  to 
make  a  good  appearance  among,  and 
share  somewhat  at  their  expense  in  the 
life  of,  others  of  far  greater  means ;  but 
it  was  too  small  to  bring  him  many  of 
the  things  which,  while  not  absolutely 
necessities,  could  not  well  be  termed 
luxuries,  considering  his  tastes  and  his 
temperament.  A  little  more  was  all  he 
needed. 

"  If  I  could  afford  to  write  only  when 
I  feel  like  it,"  he  said,  "  how  happy  I 
should  be!  But  these  orders  —  they 


io  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

make  me  a  driver  of  men,  and  not  their 
historian." 

In  fact,  Harley  was  in  that  unfortu 
nate,  and  at  the  same  time  happy,  posi 
tion  where  he  had  many  orders  for  the 
product  of  his  pen,  and  such  financial 
necessities  that  he  could  not  afford  to 
decline  one  of  them. 

And  it  was  this  very  situation  which 
made  his  rebellious  heroine  of  whom  I 
have  essayed  to  write  so  sore  a  trial  to 
the  struggling  young  author. 

It  was  early  in  May,  1895,  that  Har 
ley  had  received  a  note  from  Messrs. 
Herring,  Beemer,  &  Chadwick,  the  pub 
lishers,  asking  for  a  story  from  his  pen 
for  their  popular  "  Blue  and  Silver  Se 
ries." 

"  The  success  of  your  Tiffin  -  Talk" 
they  wrote,  "  has  been  such  that  we  are 


Stuart  Harley:  Realist  n 

prepared  to  offer  you  our  highest  terms 
for  a  short  story  of  30,000  words,  or 
thereabouts,  to  be  published  in  our 
'Blue  and  Silver  Series.'  We  should 
like  to  have  it  a  love-story,  if  possible ; 
but  whatever  it  is,  it  must  be  character 
istic,  and  ready  for  publication  in  No 
vember.  We  shall  need  to  have  the 
manuscript  by  September  ist  at  the 
latest.  If  you  can  let  us  have  the  first 
few  chapters  in  August,  we  can  send 
them  at  once  to  Mr.  Chromely,  whom 
it  is  our  intention  to  have  illustrate 
the  story,  provided  he  can  be  got  to 
do  it." 

The  letter  closed  with  a  few  formali 
ties  of  an  unimportant  and  stereotyped 
nature,  and  Harley  immediately  called 
at  the  office  of  Messrs.  Herring,  Beemer, 
&  Chadvvick,  where,  after  learning  that 


12  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

their  best  terms  were  no  more  unsat 
isfactory  than  publishers'  best  terms 
generally  are,  he  accepted  the  commis 
sion. 

And  then,  returning  to  his  apartment, 
he  went  into  what  Kelly  called  one  of 
his  trances. 

"  He  goes  into  one  of  his  trances," 
Kelly  had  said,  "  hoists  himself  up  to  his 
little  elevation,  and  peeps  into  the  pri 
vate  life  of  hoi  polloi  until  he  strikes 
something  worth  putting  down  —  and 
the  result  he  calls  literature." 

"  Yes,  and  the  people  buy  it,  and  read 
it,  and  call  for  more,"  said  the  Professor. 

"  Possibly  because  they  love  notorie 
ty,"  said  Kelly,  "  and  they  think  if  they 
call  for  more  often  enough,  he  will  final 
ly  peep  in  at  their  key-holes  and  write 
them  up.  If  he  ever  puts  me  into  one 


Stuart  Harley:  Realist  13 

of  his  books  I'll  waylay  him  at  night 
and  amputate  his  writing-hand." 

"  He  won't,"  said  the  Professor.  "  I  ask- 
ed  him  once  why  he  didn't,  and  he  said 
you'd  never  do  in  one  of  his  books,  be 
cause  you  don't  belong  to  real  life  at 
all.  He  thinks  you  are  some  new  ex 
periment  of  an  enterprising  Providence, 
and  he  doesn't  want  to  use  you  until  he 
sees  how  you  turn  out." 

"  He  could  put  me  down  as  I  go," 
suggested  the  Doctor. 

"  That's  so,"  replied  the  other.  "  I 
told  him  so,  but  he  said  he  had  no 
desire  to  write  a  lot  of  burlesque 
sketches  containing  no  coherent  idea." 

"  Oh,  he  said  that,  did  he?"  observed 
the  Doctor,  with  a  smile.  "  Well — wait 
till  Stuart  Harley  comes  to  me  for  a 
prescription.  I'll  get  even  with  him. 


14  A  Rebellious  Heroine. 

I'll  give  him  a  pill,  and  he'll  disappear 
— for  ten  days." 

Whether  it  was  as  Kelly  said  or  not, 
that  Harley  went  into  a  trance  and 
poked  his  nose  into  the  private  life  of 
the  people  he  wrote  about,  it  was  a  fact 
that  while  meditating  upon  the  possible 
output  of  his  pen  our  author  was  as 
deaf  to  his  surroundings  as  though  he 
had  departed  into  another  world,  and  it 
rarely  happened  that  his  mind  emerged 
from  that  condition  without  bringing 
along  with  it  something  of  value  to  him 
in  his  work. 

So  it  was  upon  this  May  morning. 
For  an  hour  or  two  Harley  lay  quiescent, 
apparently  gazing  out  of  his  flat  window 
over  the  uninspiring  chimney-pots  of 
the  City  of  New  York,  at  the  equally 
uninspiring  Long  Island  station  on  the 


Stuart  Harley:  Realist  15 

far  side  of  the  East  River.  It  was  well 
for  him  that  his  eye  was  able  to  see, 
and  yet  not  see :  forgetfulness  of  those 
smoking  chimney-pots,  the  red-zincked 
roofs,  the  flapping  under-clothing  of  the 
poorer  than  he,  hung  out  to  dry  on  the 
tenement  tops,  was  essential  to  the  con 
struction  of  such  a  story  as  Messrs.  Her 
ring,  Beemer,  &  Chadwick  had  in  mind ; 
and  Harley  successfully  forgot  them, 
and,  coming  back  to  consciousness, 
brought  with  him  the  dramatis  persona 
of  his  story  —  and,  taken  as  a  whole, 
they  were  an  interesting  lot.  The  hero 
was  like  most  of  those  gentlemen  who 
live  their  little  lives  in  the  novels  of 
the  day,  only  Harley  had  modified  his 
accomplishments  in  certain  directions. 
Robert  Osborne — such  was  his  name — 
was  not  the  sort  of  man  to  do  impossi- 


16  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

ble  things  for  his  heroine.  He  was  not 
reckless.  He  was  not  a  D'Artagnan 
lifted  from  the  time  of  Louis  the  Four 
teenth  to  the  dull,  prosaic  days  of  Presi 
dent  Faure.  He  was  not  even  a  French 
man,  but  an  essentially  American  Amer 
ican,  who  desires  to  know,  before  he 
does  anything,  why  he  does  it,  and  what 
are  his  chances  of  success.  I  am  not 
sure  that  if  he  had  happened  to  see  her 
struggling  in  the  ocean  he  would  have 
jumped  in  to  rescue  the  young  woman  to 
whom  his  hand  was  plighted — I  do  not 
speak  of  his  heart,  for  I  am  not  Harley, 
and  I  do  not  know  whether  or  not 
Harley  intended  that  Osborne  should 
be  afflicted  with  so  inconvenient  an 
organ — I  am  not  sure,  I  say,  that  if  he 
had  seen  his  best-beloved  struggling  in 
the  ocean  Osborne  would  have  jumped 


Stuart  Harley:  Realist  17 

in  to  rescue  her  without  first  stopping 
to  remove  such  of  his  garments  as  might 
impede  his  progress  back  to  land  again. 
In  short,  he  was  not  one  of  those  im 
petuous  heroes  that  we  read  about  so 
often  and  see  so  seldom ;  but,  taken  al 
together,  he  was  sufficiently  attractive  to 
please  the  American  girl  who  might  be 
expected  to  read  Harley's  book;  for 
that  was  one  of  the  stipulations  of 
Messrs.  Herring,  Beemer,  &  Chadwick 
when  they  made  their  verbal  agreement 
with  Harley. 

"  Make  it  go  with  the  girls,  Harley," 
Mr.  Chadwick  had  said.  "  Men  haven't 
time  to  read  anything  but  the  news 
papers  in  this  country.  Hit  the  girls, 
and  your  fortune  is  made." 

Harley  didn't  exactly  see  how  his 
fortune  was  going  to  be  made  on  the 


i8  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

best  terms  of  Messrs.  Herring,  Beemer, 
&  Chadwick,  even  if  he  hit  the  girls 
with  all  the  force  of  a  battering-ram,  but 
he  promised  to  keep  the  idea  in  mind, 
and  remained  in  his  trance  a  trifle  longer 
than  might  otherwise  have  been  neces 
sary,  endeavoring  to  select  the  unques 
tionably  correct  hero  for  his  story,  and 
Osborne  was  the  result.  Osborne  was 
moderately  witty.  His  repartee  smack 
ed  somewhat  of  the  refined  comic  paper 
— that  is  to  say,  it  was  smart  and  cynical, 
and  not  always  suited  to  the  picture ; 
but  it  wasn't  vulgar  or  dull,  and  his 
personal  appearance  was  calculated  to 
arouse  the  liveliest  interest.  He  was 
clean  shaven  and  clean  cut.  He  looked 
more  like  a  modern  ideal  of  infallible 
genius  than  Byron,  and  had  probably 
played  football  and  the  banjo  in  col- 


Stuart  Harley:  Realist  19 

lege — Harley  did  not  go  back  that  far 
with  him — all  of  which,  it  must  be  ad 
mitted,  was  pretty  well  calculated  to  as 
sure  the  fulfilment  of  Harley 's  promise 
that  the  man  should  please  the  American 
girl.  Of  course  the  story  was  provided 
with  a  villain  also,  but  he  was  a  villain  of 
a  mild  type.  Mild  villany  was  an  essen 
tial  part  of  Harley's  literary  creed,  and 
this  particular  person  was  not  conceived 
in  heresy.  His  name  was  to  have  been 
Horace  Balderstone,  and  with  him  Har 
ley  intended  to  introduce  a  lively  satire 
on  the  employment,  by  certain  contem 
porary  writers,  of  the  supernatural  to 
produce  dramatic  effects.  Balderstone 
was  of  course  to  be  the  rival  of  Os- 
borne.  In  this  respect  Harley  was 
commonplace ;  to  his  mind  the  villain 
always  had  to  be  the  rival  of  the  hero, 


20  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

just  as  in  opera  the  tenor  is  always 
virtuous  at  heart  if  not  otherwise,  and 
the  baritone  a  scoundrel,  which  in 
real  life  is  not  an  invariable  rule  by 
any  means.  Indeed,  there  have  been 
many  instances  in  real  life  where  the 
villain  and  the  hero  have  been  on  ex 
cellent  terms,  and  to  the  great  bene 
fit  of  the  hero  too.  But  in  this  case 
Balderstone  was  to  follow  in  the  rut, 
and  become  the  rival  of  Osborne  for  the 
hand  of  Marguerite  Andrews — the  hero 
ine.  Balderstone  was  to  write  a  book, 
which  for  a  time  should  so  fascinate 
Miss  Andrews  that  she  would  be  blind 
to  the  desirability  of  Osborne  as  a  hus 
band-elect  ;  a  book  full  of  the  weird  and 
thrilling,  dealing  with  theosophy  and 
spiritualism,  and  all  other  "  Tommyrot- 
isms,"  as  Harley  called  them,  all  of 


Stuart  Harley :  Realist  21 

which,  of  course,  was  to  be  the  making 
and  the  undoing  of  Balderstone;  for 
equally  of  course,  in  the  end,  he  would 
become  crazed  by  the  use  of  opium — 
the  inevitable  end  of  writers  of  that 
stamp.  Osborne  would  rescue  Mar 
guerite  from  his  fatal  influence,  and  the 
last  chapter  would  end  with  Marguerite 
lying  pale  and  wan  upon  her  sick-bed, 
recovering  from  the  mental  prostration 
which  the  influence  over  hers  of  a  mind 
like  Balderstone's  was  sure  to  produce, 
holding  Osborne's  hand  in  hers,  and 
"  smiling  a  sweet  recognition  at  the 
lover  to  whose  virtues  she  had  so  long 
been  blind."  Osborne  would  murmur, 
"At  last!"  and  the  book  would  close 
with  a  "  first  kiss,"  followed  closely  by 
six  or  eight  pages  of  advertisements  of 
other  publications  of  Messrs.  Herring, 


22  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

Beemer,  &  Chadwick.  I  mention  the 
latter  to  show  how  thoroughly  realistic 
Harley  was.  He  thought  out  his  books 
so  truly  and  so  fully  before  he  sat  down 
to  write  them  that  he  seemed  to  see 
each  written,  printed,  made  and  bound 
before  him,  a  concrete  thing  from  cover 
to  cover. 

Besides  Osborne  and  Balderstone  and 
Miss  Andrews — of  whom  I  shall  at  this 
time  not  speak  at  length,  since  the  bal 
ance  of  this  little  narrative  is  to  be  de 
voted  to  the  setting  forth  of  her  peculi 
arities  and  charms — there  were  a  num 
ber  of  minor  characters,  not  so  neces 
sary  to  the  story  perhaps  as  they  might 
have  been,  but  interesting  enough  in 
their  way,  and  very  well  calculated  to 
provide  the  material  needed  for  the  fill 
ing  out  of  the  required  number  of  pages. 


Stuart  Harley:  Realist  23 

Furthermore,  they  completed  the  pict 
ure. 

"  I  don't  want  to  put  in  three  vivid 
figures,  and  leave  the  reader  to  imagine 
that  the  rest  of  the  world  has  been 
wiped  out  of  existence,"  said  Harley, 
as  he  talked  it  over  with  me.  "  That  is 
not  art.  There  should  be  three  types 
of  character  in  every  book  —  the  posi 
tive,  the  average,  and  the  negative.  In 
that  way  you  grade  your  story  off  into 
the  rest  of  the  world,  and  your  reader 
feels  that  while  he  may  never  have  met 
the  positive  characters,  he  has  met  the 
average  or  the  negative,  or  both,  and 
is  therefore  by  one  of  these  links  con 
nected  with  the  others,  and  that  gives 
him  a  personal  interest  in  the  story ; 
and  it's  the  reader's  personal  interest 
that  the  writer  is  after." 


24  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

So  Miss  Andrews  was  provided  with 
a  very  conventional  aunt — the  kind  of 
woman  you  meet  with  everywhere ;  most 
frequently  in  church  squabbles  and 
hotel  parlors,  however.  Mrs.  Corwin 
was  this  lady's  name,  and  she  was  to 
enact  the  role  of  chaperon  to  Miss  An 
drews.  With  Mrs.  Corwin,  by  force  of 
circumstances,  came  a  pair  of  twin  chil 
dren,  like  those  in  the  Heavenly  Twins, 
only  more  real,  and  not  so  Sarah  Gran 
diose  in  their  manners  and  wit. 

These  persons  Harley  booked  for  the 
steamship  New  York,  sailing  from  New 
York  City  for  Southampton  on  the  third 
day  of  July,  1895.  The  action  was  to 
open  at  that  time,  and  Marguerite  An 
drews  was  to  meet  Horace  Balderstone 
on  that  vessel  on  the  evening  of  the 
second  day  out,  with  which  incident  the 


Stuart  Harley:  Realist  25 

interest  of  Harley's  story  was  to  begin. 
But  Harley  had  counted  without  his 
heroine.  The  rest  of  his  cast  were  safe 
ly  stowed  away  on  ship-board  and  ready 
for  action  at  the  appointed  hour,  but 
the  heroine  missed  the  steamer  by  three 
minutes,  and  it  was  all  Harley  s  own 
fault. 


II 

A   PRELIMINARY  TRIAL 

"/'//  not  be  made  a  soft  and  dull-eyed  fool 
To  shake  the  head,  relent,  and  sigh,  and  yield'' 
—"  Merchant  of  Venice." 

THE  extraordinary  failure  of  Miss 
Andrews,  cast  for  a  star  role  in  Stuart 
Harley's  tale  of  Love  and  Villany,  to 
appear  upon  the  stage  selected  by  the 
author  for  her  de"but,  must  be  explained. 
As  I  have  already  stated  at  the  close  of 
the  preceding  chapter,  it  was  entirely 
Harley's  own  fault.  He  had  studied 
Miss  Andrews  too  superficially  to  grasp 
thoroughly  the  more  refined  subtleties 
of  her  nature,  and  he  found  out,  at  a 


A  Preliminary  Trial  27 

moment  when  it  was  too  late  to  correct 
his  error,  that  she  was  not  a  woman  to 
be  slighted  in  respect  to  the  conven 
tionalities  of  polite  life,  however  trifling 
to  a  man  of  Harley's  stamp  these  might 
seem  to  be.  She  was  a  stickler  for  form  ; 
and  when  she  was  summoned  to  go  on 
board  of  an  ocean  steamship  there  to 
take  part  in  a  romance  for  the  mere 
aggrandizement  of  a  young  author,  she 
intended  that  he  should  not  ignore  the 
proprieties,  even  if  in  a  sense  the  pro 
prieties  to  which  she  referred  did  ante 
date  the  period  at  which  his  story  was 
to  open.  She  was  willing  to  appear, 
but  it  seemed  to  her  that  Stuart  Harley 
ought  to  see  to  it  that  she  was  escorted 
to  the  scene  of  action  with  the  cere 
mony  due  to  one  of  her  position. 

"What  does  he   take  me  for?"  she 


28  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

asked  of  Mrs.  Corwin,  indignantly,  on 
the  eve  of  her  departure.  "Am  I  a 
mere  marionette,  to  obey  his  slightest 
behest,  and  at  a  moment's  notice  ?  Am 
I  to  dance  when  Stuart  Harley  pulls 
the  string?" 

"Not  at  all,  my  dear  Marguerite," 
said  Mrs.  Corwin,  soothingly.  "  If  he 
thought  that,  he  would  not  have  selected 
you  for  his  story.  I  think  you  ought 
to  feel  highly  complimented  that  Mr. 
Harley  should  choose  you  for  one  of 
his  books,  and  for  such  a  conspicuous 
part,  too.  Look  at  me ;  do  I  complain  ? 
Am  I  holding  out  for  the  proprieties? 
And  yet  what  is  my  situation?  I'm 
simply  dragged  in  by  the  hair ;  and  my 
poor  children,  instead  of  having  a  nice, 
noisy  Fourth  of  July  at  the  sea-shore, 
must  needs  be  put  upon  a  great  floating 


AM    I    A   MERE    MARIONETTE  ?'  " 


A  Preliminary  Trial  29 

caravansary,  to  suffer  seasickness  and 
the  other  discomforts  of  ocean  travel, 
so  as  to  introduce  a  little  juvenile  fun 
into  this  great  work  of  Mr.  Harley's — 
and  yet  I  bow  my  head  meekly  and  go. 
Why  ?  Because  I  feel  that,  inconspicu 
ous  though  I  shall  be,  nevertheless  I  am 
highly  honored  that  Mr.  Harley  should 
select  me  from  among  many  for  the 
uses  of  his  gifted  pen." 

"You  are  prepared,  then,"  retorted 
Marguerite,  "  to  place  yourself  unre 
servedly  in  Mr.  Harley's  hands?  Shall 
you  flirt  with  the  captain  if  he  thinks 
your  doing  so  will  add  to  the  humorous 
or  dramatic  interest  of  his  story  ?  Will 
you  permit  your  children  to  make  im 
pertinent  remarks  to  every  one  aboard 
ship;  to  pick  up  sailors'  slang  and  use 
it  at  the  dining-table — in  short,  to  make 


30  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

themselves  obnoxiously  clever  at  all 
times,  in  order  that  Mr.  Harley's  critics 
may  say  that  his  book  fairly  scintillates 
with  wit,  and  gives  gratifying  evidence 
that  '  the  rising  young  author '  has  made 
a  deep  and  careful  analysis  of  the  ju 
venile  heart?" 

"  Mr.  Harley  is  too  much  of  a  gentle 
man,  Marguerite,  to  place  me  and  my 
children  in  a  false  or  ridiculous  light,'* 
returned  Mrs.  Corwin,  severely.  "  And 
even  if  he  were  not  a  gentleman,  he  is 
too  true  a  realist  to  make  me  do  any 
thing  which  in  the  nature  of  things  I 
should  not  do — which  disposes  of  your 
entirely  uncalled-for  remark  about  the 
captain  and  myself.  As  for  the  chil 
dren,  Tommie  would  not  repeat  sailors' 
lingo  at  the  table  under  any  circum 
stances,  and  Jennie  will  not  make  her- 


A  Preliminary  Trial  31 

self  obnoxiously  clever  at  any  time,  be 
cause  she  has  been  brought  up  too  care 
fully  to  fail  to  respect  her  elders.  Both 
she  and  Tommie  understand  themselves 
thoroughly;  and  when  Mr.  Harley  un 
derstands  them,  which  he  cannot  fail  to 
do  after  a  short  acquaintance,  he  will 
draw  them  as  they  are ;  and  if  previous 
to  his  complete  understanding  of  their 
peculiarities  he  introduces  into  his 
story  something  foreign  to  their  nat 
ures  and  obnoxious  to  me,  their  moth 
er,  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  correct 
his  error  when  he  comes  to  read  the 
proofs  of  his  story  and  sees  his  mis 
take." 

"  You  have  great  confidence  in  Stuart 
Harley,"  retorted  Miss  Andrews,  gazing 
out  of  the  window  with  a  pensive  cast 
of  countenance. 


32  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

"Haven't  you?"  asked  Mrs.  Corwin, 
quickly. 

"As  a  man,  yes,"  returned  Mar 
guerite.  "As  an  author,  however,  I 
think  he  is  open  to  criticism.  He  is 
not  always  true  to  the  real.  Look  at 
Lord  Barncastle,  in  his  study  of  Eng 
lish  manners !  Barncastle,  as  he  drew 
him,  was  nothing  but  a  New  York  so 
ciety  man  with  a  title,  living  in  Eng 
land.  That  is  to  say,  he  talked  like  an 
American,  thought  like  one — there  was 
no  point  of  difference  between  them." 

"And  why  should  there  be?"  asked 
Mrs.  Corwin.  "  If  a  New  York  society 
man  is  generally  a  weak  imitation  of  an 
English  peer — and  no  one  has  ever  de 
nied  that  such  is  the  case — why  shouldn't 
an  English  peer  be  represented  as  a  sort 
of  intensified  New  York  society  man  ?" 


A  Preliminary  Trial  33 

"  Besides,"  said  Miss  Andrews,  ig 
noring  Mrs.  Corwin's  point,  "I  don't 
care  to  be  presented  too  really  to  the 
reading  public,  especially  on  board  a 
ship.  I  never  yet  knew  a  woman  who 
looked  well  the  second  day  out,  and  if 
I  were  to  be  presented  as  I  always  am 
the  second  day  out,  I  should  die  of 
mortification.  My  hair  goes  out  of  curl, 
my  face  is  the  color  of  an  unripe  peach, 
and  if  I  do  go  up  on  deck  it  is  because 
I  am  so  thoroughly  miserable  that  I  do 
not  care  who  sees  me  or  what  the  world 
thinks  of  me.  I  think  it  is  very  incon 
siderate  of  Mr.  Harley  to  open  his  story 
on  an  ocean  steamer ;  and,  what  is  more, 
I  don't  like  the  American  line.  Too 
many  Americans  of  the  brass-band  type 
travel  on  it.  Stuart  Harley  said  so 
himself  in  his  last  book  of  foreign  trav- 


34  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

el ;  but  he  sends  me  out  on  it  just  the 
same,  and  expects  me  to  be  satisfied. 
Perhaps  he  thinks  I  like  that  sort  of 
American.  If  he  does,  he's  got  more 
imagination  than  he  ever  showed  in  his 
books." 

"  You  must  get  to  the  other  side  in 
some  way,"  said  Mrs.  Corwin.  "  It  is 
at  Venice  that  the  trouble  with  Balder- 
stone  is  to  come,  and  that  Osborne  top 
ples  him  over  into  the  Grand  Canal,  and 
rescues  you  from  his  baleful  influence." 

"  Humph !"  said  Marguerite,  with  a 
scornful  shrug  of  her  shoulders.  "  Rob 
ert  Osborne !  A  likely  sort  of  person  to 
rescue  me  from  anything !  He  wouldn't 
have  nerve  enough  to  rescue  me  from 
a  grasshopper  if  he  were  armed  to  the 
teeth.  Furthermore,  I  shall  not  go  to 
Venice  in  August.  It's  bad  enough  in 


A  Preliminary  Trial  35 

April  —  damp  and  hot  —  the  home  of 
malaria — an  asylum  for  artistic  temper 
aments  ;  and  insecty.  No,  my  dear  aunt, 
even  if  I  overlook  everything  else  to 
please  Mr.  Harley,  he'll  have  to  modify 
the  Venetian  part  of  that  story,  for  I 
am  determined  that  no  pen  of  his  shall 
force  me  into  Italy  at  this  season.  I 
wouldn't  go  there  to  please  Shakespeare, 
much  less  Stuart  Harley.  Let  the  affair 
come  off  at  Interlaken,  if  it  is  to  come 
off  at  all,  which  I  doubt." 

"There  is  no  Grand  Canal  at  Inter 
laken,"  said  Mrs.  Corwin,  sagely ;  for  she 
had  been  an  omnivorous  reader  of  Baed 
eker  since  she  had  learned  the  part  she 
was  to  play  in  Harley 's  book,  and  was 
therefore  well  up  in  geography. 

"  No  ;  but  there's  the  Jungfrau.  Os- 
borne  can  push  Balderstone  down  the 


36  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

side  of  an  Alp  and  kill  him,"  returned 
Miss  Andrews,  viciously. 

"  Why,  Marguerite !  How  can  you 
talk  so?  Mr.  Harley  doesn't  wish  to 
have  Balderstone  killed,"  cried  Mrs. 
Corwin,  aghast.  "If  Osborne  killed 
Balderstone  he'd  be  a  murderer,  and 
they'd  execute  him." 

"  Which  is  exactly  what  I  want,"  said 
Miss  Andrews,  firmly.  "  If  he  lives,  it 
pleases  the  omnipotent  Mr.  Harley  that 
I  shall  marry  him,  and  I  positively — 
Well,  just  you  wait  and  see." 

There  was  silence  for  some  minutes. 

"  Then  I  suppose  you  will  decline 
to  go  abroad  altogether?"  asked  Mrs. 
Corwin  after  a  while;  "and  Mr.  Har 
ley  will  be  forced  to  get  some  one  else ; 
and  I — I  shall  be  deprived  of  a  pleas 
ant  tour  —  because  I'm  only  to  be 


A  Preliminary  Trial  37 

one  of  the  party  because  I'm  your 
aunt." 

Mrs.  Corwin's  lip  quivered  a  little  as 
she  spoke.  She  had  anticipated  much 
pleasure  from  her  trip. 

"  No,  I  shall  not  decline  to  go,"  Miss 
Andrews  replied.  "  I  expect  to  go,  but 
it  is  entirely  on  your  account.  I  must 
say,  however,  that  Stuart  Harley  will 
find  out,  to  his  sorrow,  that  I  am  not  a 
doll,  to  be  worked  with  a  string.  I  shall 
give  him  a  scare  at  the  outset  which  will 
show  him  that  I  know  the  rights  of  a 
heroine,  and  that  he  must  respect  them. 
For  instance,  he  cannot  ignore  my  com 
fort.  Do  you  suppose  that  because  his 
story  is  to  open  with  my  beautiful  self 
on  board  that  ship,  I'm  to  be  there  with 
out  his  making  any  effort  to  get  me 
there  ?  Not  I !  You  and  the  children 


38  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

and  Osborne  and  Balderstone  may  go 
down  any  way  you  please.  You  may 
go  on  the  elevated  railroad  or  on  foot. 
You  may  go  on  the  horse-cars,  or  you 
may  go  on  the  luggage-van.  It  is  im 
material  to  me  what  you  do ;  but  when 
it  comes  to  myself,  Stuart  Harley  must 
provide  a  carriage,  or  I  miss  the  boat. 
I  don't  wish  to  involve  you  in  this. 
You  want  to  go,  and  are  willing  to  go 
in  his  way,  which  simply  means  turn 
ing  up  at  the  right  moment,  with  no 
trouble  to  him.  From  your  point  of 
view  it  is  all  right.  You  are  anxious  to 
go  abroad,  and  are  grateful  to  Mr.  Har 
ley  for  letting  you  go.  For  me,  how 
ever,  he  must  do  differently.  I  have  no 
particular  desire  to  leave  America,  and 
if  I  go  at  all  it  is  as  a  favor  to  him,  and 
he  must  act  accordingly.  It  is  a  case  of 


A   REBELLIOUS    HEROINE 


A  Preliminary  Trial  39 

carnage  or  no  heroine.  If  I'm  left  be 
hind,  you  and  the  rest  can  go  along 
without  me.  I  shall  do  very  well,  and 
it  will  be  Mr.  Harley's  own  fault.  It 
may  hurt  his  story  somewhat,  but  that 
is  no  concern  of  mine." 

"  I  suppose  the  reason  why  he  doesn't 
send  a  carriage  is  that  that  part  of  your 
life  doesn't  appear  in  his  story,"  ex 
plained  Mrs.  Corwin. 

"That  doesn't  affect  the  point  that 
he  ought  to  send  one,"  said  Marguerite. 
"  He  needn't  write  up  the  episode  of  the 
ride  to  the  pier  unless  he  wants  to,  but 
the  fact  remains  that  it's  his  duty  to 
see  me  safely  on  board  from  my  home, 
and  that  he  shall  do,  or  I  fail  him  at 
the  moment  he  needs  me.  If  he  is  self 
ish  enough  to  overlook  the  matter,  he 
must  suffer  the  consequences." 


40  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

All  of  which,  I  think,  was  very  rea 
sonable.  No  heroine  likes  to  feel  that 
she  is  called  into  being  merely  to  pro 
vide  copy  for  the  person  who  is  narrating 
her  story ;  and  to  be  impressed  with  the 
idea  that  the  moment  she  is  off  the  stage 
she  must  shift  entirely  for  herself  is  too 
humiliating  to  be  compatible  with  true 
heroism. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  in  his  medi 
tations  upon  that  opening  chapter  the 
scene  of  which  was  to  be  placed  on 
board  of  the  New  York,  Stuart  realized 
that  his  story  of  Miss  Andrews's  char 
acter  had  indeed  been  too  superficial. 
He  found  that  out  at  the  moment  he 
sat  down  to  describe  her  arrival  at  the 
pier,  as  it  would  be  in  all  likelihood. 
What  would  she  say  the  moment  she — 
the  moment  she  what? — the  moment 


A  Preliminary  Trial  41 

she  "  emerged  from  the  perilous  stream 
of  vehicles  which  crowd  West  Street 
from  morning  until  night,"  or  the  mo 
ment  "  she  stepped  out  of  the  cab  as  it 
drew  up  at  the  foot  of  the  gangway"? 
That  was  the  point.  How  would  she 
arrive — on  foot  or  in  a  cab?  Which  way 
would  she  come,  and  at  what  time  must 
she  start  from  home  ?  Should  she  come 
alone,  or  should  Mrs.  Corwin  and  the 
twins  come  with  her?  —  or  would  a 
woman  of  her  stamp  not  be  likely  to 
have  an  intimate  friend  to  accompany 
her  to  the  steamer?  Stuart  was  a  rapid 
thinker,  and  as  he  pondered  over  these 
problems  it  did  not  take  him  long  to 
reach  the  conclusion  that  a  cab  was  nec 
essary  for  Miss  Andrews ;  and  that  Mrs. 
Corwin  and  the  twins,  with  Osborne  and 
Balderstone,  might  get  aboard  in  their 


42  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

own  way.  He  also  decided  that  it 
would  be  an  excellent  plan  to  have 
Marguerite's  old  school  friend  Mrs.  Wil- 
lard  accompany  her  to  the  steamer. 
By  an  equally  rapid  bit  of  thought  he 
concluded  that  if  the  cab  started  from 
the  Andrews  apartment  at  Fifty-ninth 
Street  and  Central  Park  at  9.30  A.M., 
the  trip  to  the  pier  could  easily  be  made 
in  an  hour,  which  would  be  in  ample 
time,  since  the  sailing  hour  of  the  New 
York  was  eleven.  Unfortunately  Har- 
ley,  in  his  hurry,  forgot  two  or  three  in 
cidents  of  departures  generally,  especial 
ly  departures  of  women,  which  he  should 
not  have  overlooked.  It  was  careless  of 
him  to  forget  that  a  woman  about  to 
travel  abroad  wants  to  make  herself  as 
stunning  as  she  possibly  can  on  the  day 
of  departure,  so  that  the  impression  she 


A  Preliminary  Trial  43 

will  make  at  the  start  shall  be  strong 
enough  to  carry  her  through  the  dowdy 
stage  which  comes,  as  Marguerite  had 
intimated,  on  the  second  and  third  days 
at  sea ;  and  to  expect  a  woman  like  Mar 
guerite  Andrews,  who  really  had  no  re- 
sponsibilites  to  call  her  up  at  an  early 
hour,  to  be  ready  at  9.30  sharp,  was  a 
fatal  error,  unless  he  provided  his  cab 
with  an  unusually  fast  horse,  or  a  pair 
of  horses,  both  of  which  Harley  neglect 
ed  to  do.  Miss  Andrews  was  twenty 
minutes  late  at  starting  the  first  time, 
and  just  a  half -hour  behind  schedule 
time  when,  having  rushed  back  to  her 
rooms  for  her  gloves,  which  in  the  ex 
citement  of  the  moment  she  had  for 
gotten,  she  started  finally  for  the  ship. 
Even  then  all  would  have  been  well 
had  the  unfortunate  author  not  over- 


44  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

looked  one  other  vital  point.  Instead  of 
sending  the  cab  straight  down  Fifth  Ave 
nue,  to  Broadway,  to  Barclay  Street,  he 
sent  it  down  Sixth,  and  thence  through 
Greenwich  Village,  emerging  at  West 
Street  at  its  junction  with  Christopher, 
and  then  the  inevitable  happened. 

The  cab  was  blocked ! 

"I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  far,"  said 
Marguerite,  looking  out  of  the  cab  win 
dow  at  the  crowded  and  dirty  thorough 
fare. 

"  It's  a  good  mile  farther  yet,"  re 
plied  Mrs.  Willard.  "  I  shall  have  just 
that  much  more  of  your  society." 

"  It  looks  to  me,"  said  Marguerite, 
with  a  short  laugh,  as  the  cab  came  sud 
denly  to  a  halt — "  it  looks  to  me  as  if 
you  were  likely  to  have  more  than  that 
of  it ;  for  we  are  in  an  apparently  in- 


A  Preliminary  Trial  45 

extricable,  immovable  mixture  of  trucks, 
horse-cars,  and  incompetent  policemen, 
and  nothing  short  of  a  miracle  will  get 
us  a  mile  farther  along  in  twenty  min 
utes." 

"  I  do  believe  you  are  right,"  said 
Mrs.  Willard,  looking  at  her  watch  anx 
iously.  "  What  will  you  do  if  you  miss 
the  steamer?" 

"  Escape  a  horrid  fate,"  laughed  Mar 
guerite,  gayly. 

"  Poor  Mr.  Harley — why,  it  will  upset 
his  whole  story,"  said  Mrs.  Willard. 

"And  save  his  reputation,"  said  Mar 
guerite.  "  It  wouldn't  have  been  real, 
that  story,"  she  added.  "  In  the  first 
place,  Balderstone  couldn't  write  a  story 
that  would  fascinate  me;  he  could 
never  acquire  a  baleful  influence  over 
me ;  and,  finally,  I  never  should  marry 


46  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

Robert  Osborne  under  any  circum 
stances.  He's  not  at  all  the  style  of 
man  I  admire.  I'm  willing  to  go  along 
and  let  Mr.  Harley  try  to  work  it  out 
his  way,  but  he  will  give  it  up  as  a  bad 
idea  before  long  —  if  I  catch  the  steam 
er;  and  if  I  don't,  then  he'll  have  to 
modify  the  story.  That  modified,  I'm 
willing  to  be  his  heroine." 

"  But  your  aunt  and  the  twins — they 
must  be  aboard  by  this  time.  They  will 
be  worried  to  death  about  you,"  sug 
gested  Mrs.  Willard. 

"  For  a  few  moments  —  but  Aunt 
Emma  wanted  to  go,  and  she  and  the 
rest  of  them  will  have  a  good  time, 
I've  no  doubt,"  replied  Miss  Andrews, 
calmly ;  and  here  Stuart  Harley 's  her 
oine  actually  chuckled.  "And  maybe 
Mr.  Harley  can  make  a  match  between 


A  Preliminary  Trial  47 

Aunt  Emma  and  Osborne,  which  will 
suit  the  publishers  and  please  the  Amer 
ican  girl,"  she  said,  gleefully.  "  I  almost 
hope  we  do  miss  it." 

And  miss  it  they  did,  as  I  have  already 
told  you,  by  three  minutes.  As  the  cab 
entered  the  broad  pier,  the  great  steamer 
moved  slowly  but  surely  out  into  the 
stream,  and  Mrs.  Willard  and  Mr.  Har- 
ley's  heroine  were  just  in  time  to  see 
Mrs.  Corwin  wildly  waving  her  parasol 
at  the  captain  on  the  bridge,  beseeching 
him  in  agonized  tones  to  go  back  just 
for  a  moment,  while  two  separate  and  dis 
tinct  twins,  one  male  and  one  female, 
peered  over  the  rail,  weeping  bitterly. 
Incidentally  mention  may  be  made  of 
two  young  men,  Balderstone  and  Os 
borne,  who  sat  chatting  gayly  together 
in  the  smoking-room. 


48  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

"  Well,  Osborne,"  said  one,  lighting 
his  cigar,  "  she  didn't  arrive." 

"  No,"  smiled  the  other.  "  Fact  is, 
Balderstone,  I'm  glad  of  it.  She's  too 
snippy  for  me,  and  I'm  afraid  I  should 
have  quarrelled  with  you  about  her  in  a 
half-hearted,  unconvincing  manner." 

"  I'm  afraid  I'd  have  been  the  same," 
rejoined  Balderstone ;  "  for,  between  us, 
there's  a  pretty  little  brunette  from  Chi 
cago  up  on  deck,  and  Marguerite  An 
drews  would  have  got  little  attention 
from  me  while  she  was  about,  unless 
Harley  violently  outraged  my  feelings 
and  his  own  convictions." 

And  so  the  New  York  sailed  out  to 
sea,  and  Marguerite  Andrews  watched 
her  from  the  pier  until  she  had  faded 
from  view. 

As  for  Stuart  Harley,  the  author,  he 


A  Preliminary  Trial  49 

sat  in  his  study,  wringing  his  hands  and 
cursing  his  carelessness. 

"  I'll  have  to  modify  the  whole  story 
now,"  he  said,  impatiently,  "  since  it  is 
out  of  my  power  to  bring  the  New  York 
back  into  port,  with  my  hero,  villain, 
chaperon,  and  twins ;  but  whenever  or 
wherever  the  new  story  may  be  laid, 
Marguerite  Andrews  shall  be  the  hero 
ine —  she  interests  me.  Meantime  let 
Mrs.  Willard  chaperon  her." 

And  closing  his  manuscript  book  with 
a  bang,  Harley  lit  a  cigarette,  put  on  his 
hat,  and  went  to  the  club. 


Ill 

THE  RECONSTRUCTION  BEGINS 

"  Then  gently  scan  your  brother  man, 

Still  gentler  sister  woman  ; 
The?  they  may  gang  a  kennin  wrang, 
To  step  aside  is  human." — BURNS. 

WHEN,  a  few  days  later,  Harley  came 
to  the  reconstruction  of  his  story,  he 
began  to  appreciate  the  fact  that  what 
had  seemed  at  first  to  be  his  misfortune 
was,  on  the  whole,  a  matter  for  congrat 
ulation  ;  and  as  he  thought  over  the 
people  he  had  sent  to  sea,  he  came  to 
rejoice  that  Marguerite  was  not  one  of 
the  party. 

11  Osborne  wasn't  her  sort,  after  all," 


The  Reconstruction  Begins  51 

he  mused  to  himself  that  night  over  his 
coffee.  "  He  hadn't  much  mind.  I'm 
afraid  I  banked  too  much  on  his  good 
looks,  and  too  little  upon  what  I  might 
call  her  independence ;  for  of  all  the  hero 
ines  I  ever  had,  she  is  the  most  sufficient 
unto  herself.  Had  she  gone  along  I'm 
half  afraid  I  couldn't  have  got  rid  of 
Balderstone  so  easily  either,  for  he's  a 
determined  devil  as  I  see  him  ;  and  his 
intellectual  qualities  were  so  vastly  su 
perior  to  those  of  Osborne  that  by  mere 
contrast  they  would  most  certainly  have 
appealed  to  her  strongly.  The  baleful 
influence  might  have  affected  her  seri 
ously,  and  Osborne  was  never  the  man 
to  overcome  it,  and  strict  realism  would 
have  forced  her  into  an  undesirable 
marriage.  Yes,  I'm  glad  it  turned  out 
the  way  it  did ;  she's  too  good  for 


52  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

either  of  them.  I  couldn't  have  done 
the  tale  as  I  intended  without  a  certain 
amount  of  compulsion,  which  would 
never  have  worked  out  well.  She'd  have 
been  miserable  with  Osborne  for  a  hus 
band  anyhow,  even  if  he  did  succeed  in 
outwitting  Balderstone." 

Then  Harley  went  into  a  trance  for  a 
moment.  From  this  he  emerged  almost 
immediately  with  a  laugh.  The  travel 
lers  on  the  sea  had  come  to  his  mind. 

"  Poor  Mrs.  Corwin,"  he  said,  "  she's 
awfully  upset.  I  shall  have  to  give  her 
some  diversion.  Let's  see,  what  shall  it 
be  ?  She's  a  widow,  young  and  fascinat 
ing.  Hm — not  a  bad  foundation  for  a 
romance.  There  must  be  a  man  on  the 
ship  who'd  like  her ;  but,  hang  it  all ! 
there  are  those  twins.  Not  much  ro 
mance  for  her  with  those  twins  along, 


The  Reconstruction  Begins  53 

unless  the  man's  a  fool ;  and  she's  too 
fine  a  woman  for  a  fool.  Men  don't  fall 
in  love  with  whole  families  that  way. 
Now  if  they  had  only  been  left  on  the 
pier  with  Miss  Andrews,  it  would  have 
worked  up  well.  Mrs.  Convin  could 
have  fascinated  some  fellow-traveller, 
won  his  heart,  accepted  him  at  South 
ampton,  and  told  him  about  the  twins 
afterwards.  As  a  test  of  his  affection 
that  would  be  a  strong  situation  ;  but 
with  the  twins  along,  making  the  re 
marks  they  are  likely  to  make,  and  all 
that  —  no,  there  is  no  hope  for  Mrs. 
Corwin,  except  in  a  juvenile  story — 
something  like  'Two  Twins  in  a  Boat, 
not  to  Mention  the  Widow,'  or  some 
thing  of  that  sort.  Poor  woman!  I'll 
let  her  rest  in  peace,  for  the  present. 
She'll  enjoy  her  trip,  anyhow;  and  as 


54  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

for  Osborne  and  Balderstone,  I'll  let 
them  fight  it  out  for  that  dark-eyed  lit 
tle  woman  from  Chicago  I  saw  on  board, 
and  when  the  best  man  wins  I'll  put 
the  whole  thing  into  a  short  story." 

Then  began  a  new  quest  for  characters 
to  go  with  Marguerite  Andrews. 

"  She  must  have  a  chaperon,  to  begin 
with,"  thought  Harley.  "  That  is  indis 
pensable.  Herring,  Beemer,  &  Chad- 
wick  regard  themselves  as  conservators 
of  public  morals,  in  their  '  Blue  and 
Silver  Series/  so  a  girl  unmarried  and 
without  a  chaperon  would  never  do  for 
this  book.  If  they  were  to  publish  it 
in  their  '  Yellow  Prism  Series '  I  could 
fling  all  such  considerations  to  the 
winds,  for  there  they  cater  to  stronger 
palates,  palates  cultivated  by  French 
literary  cooks,  and  morals  need  not  be 


The  Reconstruction  Begins  55 

considered,  provided  the  story  is  well 
told  and  likely  to  sell;  but  this  is  for 
the  other  series,  and  a  chaperon  is  a  sine 
qua  non.  Marguerite  doesn't  need  one 
half  as  much  as  the  girls  in  the  '  Yellow 
Prism '  books,  but  she's  got  to  have  one 
just  the  same,  or  the  American  girl  will 
not  read  about  her:  and  who  is  better 
than  Dorothy  Willard,  who  has  charge 
of  her  now?" 

Harley  slapped  his  knee  with  delight. 

"  How  fortunate  I'd  provided  her !" 
he  said.  "  I've  got  my  start  already, 
and  without  having  to  think  very  hard 
over  it  either." 

The  trance  began  again,  and  lasted 
several  hours,  during  which  time  Kelly 
and  the  Professor  stole  softly  into  Har- 
ley's  rooms,  and,  perceiving  his  condi 
tion,  respected  it. 


56  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

"  He's  either  asleep  or  imagining," 
said  the  Professor,  in  a  whisper. 

"  He  can't  imagine,"  returned  the 
Doctor.  "  Call  it — realizing.  Whatever 
it  is  he's  up  to,  we  mustn't  interfere. 
There  isn't  any  use  waking  him  any 
how.  I  know  where  he  keeps  his  cigars. 
Let's  sit  down  and  have  a  smoke." 

This  the  intruders  did,  hoping  that 
sooner  or  later  their  host  would  observe 
their  presence ;  but  Harley  lay  in  bliss 
ful  unconsciousness  of  their  coming, 
and  they  finally  grew  weary  of  waiting. 

"  He  must  be  at  work  on  a  ten-vol 
ume  novel,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  Let's 
go." 

And  with  that  they  departed.  Night 
came  on,  and  with  it  darkness,  but  Har 
ley  never  moved.  The  fact  was  he  was 
going  through  an  examination  of  the 


HE   WENT   INTO   ONE   OF   HIS   TRANCES 


The  Reconstruction  Begins  57 

human  race  to  find  a  man  good  enough 
for  Marguerite  Andrews,  and  it  speaks 
volumes  for  the  interest  she  had  sud 
denly  inspired  in  his  breast  that  it 
took  him  so  long  to  find  what  he 
wanted. 

Along  about  nine  o'clock  he  gave  a 
deep  sigh  and  returned  to  earth. 

11 1  guess  I've  got  him,"  he  said,  weari 
ly,  rubbing  his  forehead,  which  began  to 
ache  a  trifle.  "  I'll  model  him  after  the 
Professor.  He's  a  good  fellow,  moder 
ately  good-looking,  has  position,  and 
certainly  knows  something,  as  profess 
ors  go.  I  doubt  if  he  is  imposing 
enough  for  the  American  girl  generally, 
but  he's  the  best  I  can  get  in  the  time 
at  my  disposal." 

So  the  Professor  was  unconsciously 
slated  for  the  office  of  hero ;  Mrs.  Wil- 


58  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

lard  was  cast  for  chaperon,  and  the  Doc 
tor,  in  spite  of  Harley's  previous  resolve 
not  to  use  him,  was  to  be  introduced  for 
the  comedy  element.  The  villain  se 
lected  was  the  usual  poverty-stricken 
foreigner  with  a  title  and  a  passion  for 
wealth,  which  a  closer  study  of  his  her 
oine  showed  Harley  that  Miss  Andrews 
possessed ;  for  on  her  way  home  from 
the  pier  she  took  Mrs.  Willard  to  the 
Amsterdam  and  treated  her  to  a  lunch 
eon  which  nothing  short  of  a  ten-dollar 
bill  would  pay  for,  after  which  the  two 
went  shopping,  replenishing  Miss  An- 
drews's  wardrobe  —  most  of  which  lay 
snugly  stored  in  the  hold  of  the  New 
York,  and  momentarily  getting  farther 
and  farther  away  from  its  fair  owner — 
in  the  course  of  which  tour  Miss  An 
drews  expended  a  sum  which,  had  Har- 


The  Reconstruction  Begins  59 

ley  possessed  it,  would  have  made  it  un 
necessary  for  him  to  write  the  book  he 
had  in  mind  at  all. 

"It's  good  she's  rich,"  sighed  Harley. 
"That  will  make  it  all  the  easier  to 
have  her  go  to  Newport  and  attract  the 
Count." 

At  the  moment  that  Harley  spoke 
these  words  to  himself  Mrs.  Willard  and 
Marguerite,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Wil 
lard,  entered  the  mansion  of  the  latter 
on  Fifth  Avenue.  They  had  spent  the 
afternoon  and  evening  at  the  Andrews 
apartment,  arranging  for  its  closing  until 
the  return  of  Mrs.  Corwin.  Marguerite 
meanwhile  was  to  be  the  guest  of  the 
Willards. 

"  Next  week  we'll  run  up  to  New 
port,"  said  Dorothy.  "  The  house  is 
ready,  and  Bob  is  going  for  his  cruise." 


60  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

Marguerite  looked  at  her  curiously  for 
a  moment. 

"  Did  you  intend  to  go  there  all 
along?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes — of  course.  Why  do  you  ask  ?" 
returned  Mrs.  Willard. 

"  Why,  that  very  idea  came  into  my 
mind  at  the  moment,"  replied  Margue 
rite.  "  I  thought  this  afternoon  I'd  run 
up  to  Riverdale  and  stay  with  the  Hal- 
lidays  next  week,  when  all  of  a  sudden 
Newport  came  into  my  mind,  and  it  has 
been  struggling  there  with  Riverdale  for 
two  hours — until  I  almost  began  to  be 
lieve  somebody  was  trying  to  compel 
me  to  go  to  Newport.  If  it  is  your  idea, 
and  has  been  all  along,  I'll  go;  but 
if  Stuart  Harley  is  trying  to  get  me 
down  there  for  literary  purposes,  I  sim 
ply  shall  not  do  it." 


The  Reconstruction  Begins  61 

"You  had  better  dismiss  that  idea 
from  your  mind  at  once,  my  dear,"  said 
Mrs.  Willard.  "  Mr.  Harley  never  com 
pels.  No  compulsion  is  the  corner-stone 
of  his  literary  structure;  free  will  is  his 
creed :  you  may  count  on  that.  If  he 
means  to  make  you  his  heroine  still,  it 
will  be  at  Newport  if  you  are  at  New 
port,  at  Riverdale  if  you  happen  to  be 
at  Riverdale.  Do  come  with  me,  even 
if  he  does  impress  you  as  endeavoring 
to  force  you ;  for  at  Newport  I  shall 
be  your  chaperon,  and  I  should  dearly 
love  to  be  put  in  a  book  —  with  you. 
Bob  has  asked  Jack  Perkins  down, 
and  Mrs.  Howlett  writes  me  that 
Count  Bonetti,  of  Naples,  is  there,  and 
is  a  really  delightful  fellow.  We  shall 
have — " 

"You  simply  confirm  my  fears,"  in- 


62  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

terrupted  Marguerite.  "  You  are  to  be 
Harley's  chaperon,  Professor  Perkins  is 
his  hero,  and  Count  Bonetti  is  the  vil 
lain—" 

"  Why,  Marguerite,  how  you  talk !" 
cried  Mrs.  Willard.  "  Do  you  exist 
merely  in  Stuart  Harley's  brain?  Do 
I  ?  Are  we  none  of  us  living  creatures 
to  do  as  we  will  ?  Are  we  nothing  more 
than  materials  pigeon-holed  for  Mr. 
Harley's  future  use?  Has  Count  Bo 
netti  crossed  the  ocean  just  to  please 
Mr.  Harley?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  believe,"  said 
Miss  Andrews,  "  and  I  don't  care  much 
either  way,  as  long  as  I  have  indepen 
dence  of  action.  I'll  go  with  you,  Dor 
othy  ;  but  if  it  turns  out,  as  I  fear,  that 
we  are  expected  to  act  our  parts  in  a 
Harley  romance,  that  romance  will  re- 


The  Reconstruction  Begins  63 

ceive  a  shock  from  which  it  will  never 
recover." 

"Why  do  you  object  so  to  Mr.  Har- 
ley,  anyhow?  I  thought  you  liked  his 
books,"  said  Mrs.  Willard. 

"I  do ;  some  of  them,"  Marguerite 
answered  ;  "  and  I  like  him  ;  but  he  does 
not  understand  me,  and  until  he  does 
he  shall  not  put  me  in  his  stories.  I'll 
rout  him  at  every  point,  until  he — " 

Marguerite  paused.  Her  face  flushed. 
Tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

"  Until  he  what,  dearest  ?"  asked  Mrs. 
Willard,  sympathetically. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Marguerite,  with 
a  quiver  in  her  voice,  as  she  rose  and 
left  the  room. 

"  I  fancy  we'd  better  go  at  once, 
Bob,"  said  Mrs.  Willard  to  her  husband, 
later  on.  "  Marguerite  is  quite  upset 


64  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

by  the  experiences  of  the  day,  and  New 
York  is  fearfully  hot." 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  returned  Willard. 
"  Jerrold  sent  word  this  afternoon  that 
the  boat  will  be  ready  Friday,  instead 
of  Thursday  of  next  week ;  so  if  you'll 
pack  up  to-morrow  we  can  board  her 
Friday,  and  go  up  the  Sound  by  water 
instead  of  by  rail.  It  will  be  pleasanter 
for  all  hands." 

Which  was  just  what  Harley  wanted. 
The  Willards  were  of  course  not  con 
scious  of  the  fact,  though  Mrs.  Willard's 
sympathy  with  Marguerite  led  her  to 
suspect  that  such  was  the  case  ;  for  that 
such  was  the  case  was  what  Marguerite 
feared. 

"  We  are  being  forced,  Dorothy,"  she 
said,  as  she  stepped  on  the  yacht  two 
days  later. 


The  Reconstruction  Begins  65 

"  Well,  what  if  we  are  ?  It's  pleasanter 
going  this  way  than  by  rail,  isn't  it?" 
Mrs.  Willard  replied,  with  some  impa 
tience.  "  If  we  owe  all  this  to  Stuart 
Harley,  we  ought  to  thank  him  for  his 
kindness.  According  to  your  theory  he 
could  have  sent  us  up  on  a  hot,  dusty 
train,  and  had  a  collision  ready  for  us  at 
New  London,  in  order  to  kill  off  a  few 
undesirable  characters  and  give  his  hero 
a  chance  to  distinguish  himself.  I  think 
that  even  from  your  own  point  of  view 
Mr.  Harley  is  behaving  in  a  very  con 
siderate  fashion." 

"  No  doubt  you  think  so,"  returned 
Marguerite,  spiritedly.  "  But  it's  differ 
ent  with  you.  You  are  settled  in  life. 
Your  husband  is  the  man  of  your  choice; 
you  are  happy,  with  everything  you 
want.  You  will  do  nothing  extraordi- 


66  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

nary  in  the  book.  If  you  did  do  some 
thing  extraordinary  you  would  cease  to 
be  a  good  chaperon,  and  from  that  mo 
ment  would  be  cast  aside ;  but  I — I  am 
in  a  different  position  altogether.  I  am 
a  single  woman,  unsettled  as  yet,  for 
whom  this  author  in  his  infinite  wisdom 
deems  it  necessary  to  provide  a  lover 
and  husband ;  and  in  order  that  his  nar 
rative  of  how  I  get  this  person  he  has 
selected — without  consulting  my  tastes 
— may  interest  a  lot  of  other  girls,  who 
are  expected  to  buy  and  read  his  book, 
he  makes  me  the  object  of  an  intriguing 
fortune-hunter  from  Italy.  I  am  to  be 
lieve  he  is  a  real  nobleman,  and  all  that ; 
and  a  stupid  wiseacre  from  the  York 
University,  who  can't  dance,  and  who 
thinks  of  nothing  but  his  books  and  his 
club,  is  to  come  in  at  the  right  moment 


The  Reconstruction  Begins  67 

and  expose  the  Count,  and  all  such  trash 
as  that.  I  know  at  the  outset  how  it  all 
is  to  be.  You  couldn't  deceive  a  sensi 
ble  girl  five  minutes  with  Count  Bonetti, 
any  more  than  that  Balderstone  man, 
who  is  now  making  a  useless  trip  across 
the  Atlantic  with  my  aunt  and  her 
twins,  could  have  exerted  a  '  baleful  in 
fluence'  over  me  with  his  diluted  spir 
itualism.  I'm  not  an  idiot,  my  dear 
Dorothy." 

"  You  are  a  heroine,  love,"  returned 
Mrs.  Willard. 

"  Perhaps — but  I  am  the  kind  of  hero 
ine  who  would  stop  a  play  five  minutes 
after  the  curtain  had  risen  on  the  first 
act  if  the  remaining  four  acts  depended 
on  her  failing  to  see  something  that  was 
plain  to  the  veriest  dolt  in  the  audience," 
Marguerite  replied,  with  spirit.  "  No- 


68  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

body  shall  ever  write  me  up  save  as  I 
am." 

"Well — perhaps  you  are  wrong  this 
time.  Perhaps  Mr.  Harley  isn't  going 
to  make  a  book  of  you,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
lard. 

"  Very  likely  he  isn't,"  said  Margue 
rite  ;  "  but  he's  trying  it — I  know  that 
much." 

"And  how,  pray?"  asked  Mrs.  Wil- 
lard. 

"  That,"  said  Marguerite,  her  frown 
vanishing  and  a  smile  taking  its  place — 
"  that  is  for  the  present  my  secret.  I'll 
tell  you  some  day,  but  not  until  I  have 
baffled  Mr.  Harley  in  his  ill-advised  pur 
pose  of  marrying  me  off  to  a  man  I  don't 
want,  and  wouldn't  have  under  any  cir 
cumstances.  Even  if  I  had  caught  the 
New  York  the  other  day  his  plans  would 


The  Reconstruction  Begins  69 

have  miscarried.  I'd  never  have  married 
that  Osborne  man;  I'd  have  snubbed 
Balderstone  the  moment  he  spoke  to 
me ;  and  if  Stuart  Harley  had  got  a 
book  out  of  my  trip  to  Europe  at  all, 
it  would  have  been  a  series  of  papers 
on  some  such  topic  as  '  The  Spinster 
Abroad,  or  How  to  be  Happy  though 
Single.'  No  more  shall  I  take  the  part 
he  intends  me  to  in  this  Newport  ro 
mance,  unless  he  removes  Count  Bo- 
netti  from  the  scene  entirely,  and  pro 
vides  me  with  a  different  style  of  hero 
from  his  Professor,  the  original  of  whom, 
by-the-way,  as  I  happen  to  know,  is  al 
ready  married  and  has  two  children.  I 
went  to  school  with  his  wife,  and  I  know 
just  how  much  of  a  hero  he  is." 

And  so  they  went  to   Newport,  and 
Harley's    novel    opened    swimmingly. 


70  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

His  description  of  the  yacht  was  per 
fect  ;  his  narration  of  the  incidents  of 
the  embarkation  could  not  be  improved 
upon  in  any  way.  They  were  absolutely 
true  to  the  life. 

But  his  account  of  what  Marguerite 
Andrews  said  and  did  and  thought  while 
on  the  Willards'  yacht  was  not  realism 
at  all — it  was  imagination  of  the  wild 
est  kind,  for  she  said,  did,  and  thought 
nothing  of  the  sort. 

Harley  did  his  best,  but  his  heroine 
was  obdurate,  and  the  poor  fellow  did 
not  know  that  he  was  writing  untruths, 
for  he  verily  believed  that  he  heard  and 
saw  all  that  he  attributed  to  her  ex 
actly  as  he  put  it  down. 

So  the  story  began  well,  and  Harley 
for  a  time  was  quite  happy.  At  the  end 
of  a  week,  however,  he  had  a  fearful  set- 


The  Reconstruction  Begins  71 

back.  Count  Bonetti  was  ready  to  be 
presented  to  Marguerite  according  to 
the  plan,  but  there  the  schedule  broke 
down. 

Harley's  heroine  took  a  new  and  en 
tirely  unexpected  tack. 


IV 
A  CHAPTER  FROM  HARLEY,  WITH  NOTES 

"  Good-bye,  proud  world,  I 'ingoing  home, 
Thou  art  not  my  friend,  and  I'm  not  thine." 

—EMERSON. 

I  THINK  the  reader  will  possibly  gain 
a  better  idea  of  what  happened  at  the 
Hewlett  dance,  at  which  Count  Bonetti 
was  to  have  been  presented  to  Miss  An 
drews,  if  I  forego  the  pleasure  of  writing 
this  chapter  myself,  and  produce  instead 
the  chapter  of  Stuart  Harley's  ill-fated 
book  which  was  to  have  dealt  with  that 
most  interesting  incident.  Having  re 
linquished  all  hope  of  ever  getting  that 


A  Chapter  from  Harley,  with  Notes      73 

particular  story  into  shape  without  a 
change  of  heroine,  and  being  unwilling 
to  go  to  that  extreme,  Mr.  Harley  has 
very  kindly  placed  his  manuscript  at  my 
disposal. 

"  Use  it  as  you  will,  my  dear  fellow," 
he  said,  when  I  asked  him  for  it.  "  I 
can't  do  anything  with  it  myself,  and  it 
is  merely  occupying  space  in  my  pigeon 
holes  for  which  I  can  find  better  use.  It 
may  need  a  certain  amount  of  revision 
— in  fact,  it  is  sure  to,  for  it  is  uncon 
scionably  long,  and,  thanks  to  the  per 
sistent  failure  of  Miss  Andrews  to  do  as 
I  thought  she  would,  may  frequently 
seem  incoherent.  For  your  own  sake 
revise  it,  for  the  readers  of  your  book 
won't  believe  that  you  are  telling  a  true 
story  anyhow ;  they  will  say  that  you 
wrote  this  chapter  and  attributed  it  to 


74  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

me,  and  you  will  find  yourself  held  re 
sponsible  for  its  shortcomings.  I  have  in 
serted  a  few  notes  here  and  there  which 
will  give  you  an  idea  of  what  I  suffered 
as  I  wrote  on  and  found  her  growing 
daily  less  and  less  tractable,  with  occa 
sionally  an  indication  of  the  point  of  di 
vergence  between  her  actual  behavior 
and  that  which  I  expected  of  her." 

To  a  fellow-workman  in  literary  fields 
this  chapter  is  of  pathetic  interest, 
though  it  may  not  so  appear  to  the 
reader  who  knows  little  of  the  difficul 
ties  of  authorship.  I  can  hardly  read  it 
myself  without  a  feeling  of  most  intense 
pity  for  poor  Harley.  I  can  imagine 
the  sleepless  nights  which  followed  the 
shattering  of  his  hopes  as  to  what  his 
story  might  be  by  the  recalcitrant  atti 
tude  of  the  young  woman  he  had  hon- 


A  Chapter  from  Harley,  with  Notes      75 

ored  so  highly  by  selecting  her  for  his 
heroine.  I  can  almost  feel  the  bitter 
sense  of  disappointment,  which  must 
have  burned  to  the  very  depths  of  his 
soul,  when  he  finally  realized  how  com 
pletely  overturned  were  all  his  plans, 
and  I  cannot  forego  calling  attention  to 
the  constancy  to  his  creed  of  Stuart 
Harley,  in  sacrificing  his  opportunity 
rather  than  his  principles,  as  shown  by 
his  resolute  determination  not  to  force 
Miss  Andrews  to  do  his  bidding,  even 
though  it  required  merely  the  dipping 
of  his  pen  into  the  ink  and  the  resolu 
tion  to  do  so. 

I  cannot  blame  her,  however.  Grant 
ing  to  Harley  the  right  to  a  creed,  Miss 
Andrews,  too,  it  must  be  admitted,  was 
entitled  to  have  views  as  to  how  she 
ought  to  behave  under  given  circum- 


76  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

stances,  and  if  she  found  her  notions 
running  counter  to  his,  it  was  only 
proper  that  she  should  act  according  to 
the  dictates  of  her  own  heart,  or  mind, 
or  whatever  else  it  may  be  that  a  woman 
reasons  with,  rather  than  according  to 
his  wishes. 

As  to  all  questions  of  this  kind,  how 
ever,  as  between  the  two,  the  reader 
must  judge,  and  one  document  in  evi 
dence  is  Harley's  chapter,  which  ran  in 
this  wise : 

A    MEETING 

"  Stop  beating,  heart,  and  in  a  moment  calm 
The  question  answer — is  this,  then,  my  fate  ?" 
— PERKINS'S  "Odes." 

As  the  correspondents  of  the  New 
York  papers  had  surmised,  invitations 
for  the  Hewlett  ball  were  issued  on  the 
1 2th.  It  is  not  surprising  that  the  cor- 


A  Chapter  from  Harley,  with  Notes      77 

respondents  in  this  instance  should  be 
guilty  of  that  rare  crime  among  society 
reporters,  accuracy,  for  their  information 
was  derived  from  a  perfectly  reliable 
source,  Mrs.  Hewlett's  butler,  in  whose 
hands  the  addressing  of  the  envelopes 
had  been  placed  —  a  man  of  imposing 
presence,  and  of  great  value  to  the  pro 
fessional  snappers- up  of  unconsidered 
trifles  of  social  gossip  in  the  pay  of  the 
Sunday  newspapers,  with  many  of  whom 
he  was  on  terms  of  closest  intimacy. 
Of  course  Mrs.  Hewlett  was  not  aware 
that  her  household  contained  a  person 
age  of  great  journalistic  importance, 
any  more  than  her  neighbor,  Mrs.  Floyd- 
Hopkins,  was  aware  that  it  was  her  maid 
who  had  furnished  the  Weekly  Journal 
of  Society  with  the  vivid  account  of  the 
scandalous  behavior,  at  her  last  dinner, 


78  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

of  Major  Pompoly,  who  had  to  be 
forcibly  ejected  from  the  Floyd-Hop 
kins  domicile  by  the  husband  of  Mrs. 
Jernigan  Smith — a  social  morsel  which 
attracted  much  attention  several  years 
ago.  Every  effort  was  made  to  hush 
that  matter  up,  and  the  guests  all  swore 
eternal  secrecy  ;  but  the  Weekly  Journal 
of  Society  had  it,  and,  strangely  enough, 
had  it  right,  in  its  next  issue ;  but  the 
maid  was  never  suspected,  even  though 
she  did  appear  to  be  possessed  of  more 
ample  means  than  usual  for  some  time 
after.  Mrs.  Floyd-Hopkins  preferred  to 
suspect  one  of  her  guests,  and,  on  the 
whole,  was  not  sorry  that  the  matter 
had  got  abroad,  for  everybody  talked 
about  it,  and  through  the  episode  her 
dinner  became  one  of  the  historic  ban 
quets  of  the  season. 


A  Chapter  from  Harley,  with  Notes      79 

The  Willards,  who  were  by  this  time 
comfortably  settled  at  "The  Needles," 
their  cottage  on  the  cliff,  it  is  hardly 
necessary  to  state,  were  among  those 
invited,  and  with  their  cards  was  in 
cluded  one  for  Marguerite.  Added  to 
the  card  was  a  personal  note  from  Mrs. 
Hewlett  to  Miss  Andrews,  expressing 
the  especial  hope  that  she  would  not 
fail  them,  all  of  which  was  very  gratify 
ing  to  the  young  girl. 

"See  what  I've  got,"  she  cried, 
gleefully,  running  into  Mrs.  Willard's 
"den"  at  the  head  of  the  beautiful 
oaken  stairs. 

(Note. — At  this  point  in  Harley's  man 
uscript  there  is  evidence  of  indecision 
on  the  author's  part.  His  heroine  had 
begun  to  bother  him  a  trifle.  He  had 
written  a  half-dozen  lines  descriptive  of 


8o  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

Miss  Andrews's  emotions  at  receiving  a 
special  note  of  invitation,  subsequently 
erasing  them.  The  word  "  gleefully  " 
had  been  scratched  out,  and  then  re 
stored  in  place  of  "  scornfully,"  which 
had  at  first  been  substituted  for  it.  It 
was  plain  that  Harley  was  not  quite 
certain  as  to  how  much  a  woman  of 
Miss  Andrews's  type  would  care  for  a 
special  attention  of  this  nature,  even  if 
she  cared  for  it  at  all.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  the  word  chosen  should  have  been 
"  dubiously,"  and  neither  "  gleefully  " 
nor  "  scornfully  ";  for  the  real  truth  was 
that  there  was  no  reason  why  Mrs.  How- 
lett  should  so  honor  Marguerite,  and 
the  girl  at  once  began  to  wonder  if  it 
were  not  an  extra  precaution  of  Har- 
ley's  to  assure  her  presence  at  the  ball 
for  the  benefit  of  himself  and  his  pub- 


A  Chapter  from  Harley,  with  Notes      81 

lishers.  The  author  finally  wrote  it  as 
I  have  given  it  above,  however,  and 
Miss  Andrews  received  her  special  invi 
tation  "  gleefully  " — according  to  Har 
ley.  He  perceives  her  doubt,  however, 
without  comprehending  it ;  for  after 
describing  Mrs.  Willard's  reading  of  the 
note,  he  goes  on.) 

"  That  is  very  nice  of  Mrs.  Hewlett," 
said  Mrs.  Willard,  handing  Marguerite 
back  her  note.  "  It  is  a  special  honor, 
my  dear,  by  which  you  should  feel  highly 
flattered.  She  doesn't  often  do  things 
like  that." 

"  I  should  think  not,'*  said  Margue 
rite.  "I  am  a  perfect  stranger  to  her, 
and  that  she  should  do  it  at  all  strikes 
me  as  being  most  extraordinary.  It 
doesn't  seem  sincere,  and  I  can't  help 
thinking  that  some  extraneous  circum- 


82  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

stance  has  been  brought  to  bear  upon 
her  to  force  her  to  do  it." 

(Note. — Stuart  Harley  has  commented 
upon  this  as  follows:  "As  I  read  this 
over  I  must  admit  that  Miss  Andrews 
was  right.  Why  I  had  Mrs.  Howlett 
do  such  a  thing  I  don't  know,  unless  it 
was  that  my  own  admiration  for  my  hero 
ine  led  me  to  believe  that  some  more 
than  usual  attention  was  her  due.  In 
my  own  behalf  I  will  say  that  I  should 
in  all  probability  have  eliminated  or  cor 
rected  this  false  note  when  I  came  to 
the  revision  of  my  proofs."  The  chap 
ter  then  proceeds.) 

"What  shall  we  wear?"  mused  Mrs. 
Willard,  as  Marguerite  folded  Mrs.  How- 
lett's  note  and  replaced  it  in  its  enve 
lope. 

"  I  must  positively  decline  to  discuss 


A  Chapter  from  Harley,  with  Notes      83 

that  question.  It  is  of  no  public  in 
terest,"  snapped  Marguerite,  her  face 
flushing  angrily.  "  My  clothing  is  my 
own  business,  and  no  one's  else."  She 
paused  a  moment,  and  then,  in  an  apolo 
getic  tone,  she  added,  "  I'd  be  perfectly 
willing  to  talk  with  you  about  it  gen 
erally,  my  dear  Dorothy,  but  not  now." 

Mrs.  Willard  looked  at  the  girl  in  sur 
prise. 

(Note. — Stuart  Harley  has  written  this 
in  the  margin  :  "  Here  you  have  one  of 
the  situations  which  finally  compelled 
me  to  relinquish  this  story.  You  know 
yourself  how  hard  it  is  to  make  30,003 
words  out  of  a  slight  situation,  and  at  the 
same  time  stick  to  probability.  I  had  an 
idea,  in  mapping  out  this  chapter,  that  I 
could  make  three  or  four  interesting 
pages  —  interesting  to  the  girls,  mind 


84  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

you — out  of  a  discussion  of  what  they 
should  wear  at  the  Hewlett  dance.  It 
was  a  perfectly  natural  subject  for  dis 
cussion  at  the  time  and  under  the  circum 
stances.  It  would  have  been  a  good 
thing  in  the  book,  too,  for  it  might  have 
conveyed  a  few  wholesome  hints  in  the 
line  of  good  taste  in  dress  which  would 
have  made  my  story  of  some  value. 
Women  are  always  writing  to  the  pa 
pers,  asking,  'What  shall  I  wear  here?' 
and  'What  shall  I  wear  there?'  The 
ideas  of  two  women  like  Mrs.  Willard 
and  Marguerite  Andrews  would  have 
been  certain  to  be  interesting,  elevating, 
and  exceedingly  useful  to  such  people, 
but  the  moment  I  attempted  to  involve 
them  in  that  discussion  Miss  Andrews 
declined  utterly  to  speak,  and  I  was  cut 
out  of  some  six  or  seven  hundred  quite 


A  Chapter  from  Harley,  with  Notes      85 

important  words.  I  had  supposed  all 
women  alike  in  that  matter,  but  I  find  I 
was  mistaken ;  one,  at  least,  won't  dis 
cuss  clothes — but  I  don't  wonder  that 
Mrs.  Willard  looked  up  in  surprise.  1 
put  that  in  just  to  please  myself,  for  of 
course  the  whole  incident  would  have 
had  to  be  cut  out  when  the  manuscript 
went  to  the  type-setter."  The  chapter 
takes  a  new  lead  here,  as  follows :) 

Mrs.  Willard  was  punctiliously  prompt 
in  sending  the  acceptances  of  herself 
and  Mr.  Willard  to  Mrs.  Hewlett,  and  at 
the  same  time  Marguerite's  acceptance 
was  despatched,  although  she  was  at 
first  disposed  to  send  her  regrets.  She 
was  only  moderately  fond  of  those  in 
consequent  pleasures  which  make  the 
life  social.  She  was  a  good  dancer,  but 
a  more  excellent  talker,  and  she  pre- 


86  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

ferred  talking  to  dancing;  but  the  in 
anity  of  what  are  known  as  stair  talks  at 
dances  oppressed  her ;  nor  did  she  look 
forward  with  any  degree  of  pleasure  to 
what  we  might  term  conservatory  con 
fidences,  which  in  these  luxurious  days 
have  become  so  large  a  factor  in  terpsi- 
chorean  diversions,  for  Marguerite  was 
of  a  practical  nature.  She  had  once 
chilled  the  heart  of  a  young  poet  by 
calling  Venice  malarious  (Harley  little 
realized  when  he  wrote  this  how  he 
would  have  suffered  had  he  carried  out 
his  original  intention  and  transplanted 
Marguerite  to  the  City  of  the  Sea !),  and 
a  conservatory  to  her  was  a  thing  for 
mid-day,  and  not  for  midnight.  She  was 
therefore  not  particularly  anxious  to 
spend  an  evening  —  which  began  at  an 
aggravatingly  late  hour  instead  of  at  a 


A  Chapter  from  Harley,  with  Notes      87 

reasonable  time,  thanks  to  a  social  cus 
tom  which  has  its  foundation  in  nothing 
short  of  absolute  insanity — in  the  pursuit 
of  nothing  of  greater  value  than  dancing, 
stair  talks,  and  conservatory  confidences; 
but  Mrs.  Willard  soon  persuaded  her 
that  she  ought  to  go,  and  go  she  did. 

It  was  a  beautiful  night,  that  of  the 
22d  of  July.  Newport  was  at  her  best. 
The  morning  had  been  oppressively 
warm,  but  along  about  three  in  the 
afternoon  a  series  of  short  and  sharp 
electrical  storms  came,  and  as  quickly 
went,  cooling  the  heated  city,  and  fresh 
ening  up  the  air  until  it  was  as  clear  as 
crystal,  and  refreshing  as  a  draught  of 
cold  spring-water. 

At  the  Hewlett  mansion  on  Bellevue 
Avenue  all  was  in  readiness  for  the  event. 
The  caterer's  wagons  had  arrived  with 


88  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

their  dainty  contents,  and  had  gone,  and 
now  the  Hungarian  band  was  sending 
forth  over  the  cool  night  air  those  beau 
tiful  and  weird  waves  of  melody  which 
entrance  the  most  unwilling  ear.  About 
the  broad  and  spacious  grounds  festoon 
ed  lights  hung  from  tree  to  tree;  here 
and  there  little  rose-scented  bowers  for 
tete-a-tete  talks  were  set;  from  within, 
streaming  through  the  windows  in  regal 
beauty,  came  the  lights  of  the  vast  ball 
room,  the  reception  -  rooms,  and  the 
beautifully  designed  dining-hall — lately 
added  by  young  Morris  Black,  the  archi 
tect,  to  Mrs.  Hewlett's  already  perfect 
house. 

On  the  ballroom  floor  are  some  ten 
or  twenty  couples  gracefully  waltzing  to 
the  strains  of  Sullivan,  and  in  the  midst 
of  these  we  see  Marguerite  Andrews 


A  Chapter  from  Harley,  with  Notes      89 

threading  her  way  across  the  room  with 
some  difficulty,  attended  by  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Willard.  They  have  just  arrived.  As 
Marguerite  walks  across  the  hall  she  at 
tracts  every  one.  There  is  that  about 
her  which  commands  attention.  At  the 
instant  of  her  entrance  Count  Bonetti  is 
on  the  qui  vive. 

"  Py  Chove !"  he  cries,  as  he  leans 
gracefully  against  the  doorway  opening 
into  the  conservatory.  "  Zare,  my  dear 
friend,  zat  iss  my  idea  of  ze  truly  peau- 
tiful  woman.  Vat  iss  her  name?" 

"  That  is  Miss  Andrews  of  New  York, 
Count,"  the  person  addressed  replies. 
"  She  is  up  here  with  the  Willards." 

"  I  musd  meed  her,"  says  the  Count, 
his  eye  following  Marguerite  as  she 
walks  up  to  Mrs.  Hewlett  and  is  greeted 
effusively  by  that  lady. 


QO  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

Marguerite  is  pale,  and  appears  anx 
ious.  Even  to  the  author  the  ways  of 
the  women  in  his  works  are  inscru 
table  ;  so  upon  this  occasion.  She  is 
pale,  but  I  cannot  say  why.  Can  it  be 
that  she  has  an  intuitive  knowledge 
that  to-night  may  decide  her  whole 
future  life?  Who  can  tell?  Woman's 
intuitions  are  great,  and  there  be  those 
who  say  they  are  unerringly  true.  One 
by  one,  with  the  exception  of  Count 
Bonetti,  the  young  men  among  Mrs. 
Hovvlett's  guests  are  presented — Bonetti 
prefers  to  await  a  more  favorable  oppor 
tunity — and  to  all  Marguerite  appears 
to  be  the  beautiful  woman  she  is.  Hers 
is  an  instant  success.  A  new  beauty  has 
dawned  upon  the  Newport  horizon. 

Let  us  describe  her  as  she  stands. 

(Note. — There  is  a  blank   space  left 


A  Chapter  from  Harley,  with  Notes      91 

here.  At  first  I  thought  it  was  because 
Harley  wished  to  reflect  a  little  before 
drawing  a  picture  of  so  superb  a  woman 
as  he  seemed  to  think  her,  and  go  on  to 
the  conclusion  of  the  chapter,  the  main 
incidents  being  hot  in  his  mind,  and  the 
purely  descriptive  matters  more  easily 
left  to  calmer  moments.  He  informs 
me,  however,  that  such  was  not  the  case. 
"When  I  came  to  describe  her  as  she 
stood,"  he  said,  "  she  had  disappeared, 
and  I  had  to  search  all  over  the  house 
before  I  finally  found  her  in  the  conser 
vatory.  So  I  changed  the  chapter  to 
read  thus:") 

After  a  half-hour  of  dancing  and  hold 
ing  court — for  Marguerite's  triumph  was 
truly  that  of  a  queen,  it  was  so  complete 
— Miss  Andrews  turned  to  Mr.  Willard 
and  took  his  arm. 


92  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

"  Let  us  go  into  the  conservatory," 
she  said,  in  a  whisper.  "  I  have  heard 
so  much  about  Mrs.  Hewlett's  orchids, 
I  should  like  to  see  them." 

Willard,  seeing  that  she  was  tired 
and  slightly  bored  by  the  incessant 
chatter  of  those  about  her,  escorted  her 
out  through  the  broad  door  into  the 
conservatory.  As  she  passed  from  the 
ballroom  the  dark  eyes  of  Count  Bonetti 
flashed  upon  her,  but  she  heeded  them 
not,  moving  on  into  the  floral  bower  in 
apparently  serene  unconsciousness  of 
that  person's  presence.  Here  Willard 
got  her  a  chair. 

"Will  you  have  an  ice?"  he  asked,  as 
she  seated  herself  beneath  one  of  the 
lofty  palms. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  simply.  "  I  can 
wait  here  alone  if  you  will  get  it." 


THE    DARK    EYES    OF   COUNT    BONETTI    FLASHED 


A  Chapter  from  Harley,  with  Notes      93 

Willard  passed  out,  and  soon  returned 
with  the  ice ;  but  as  he  came  through 
the  doorway  Bonetti  stopped  him  and 
whispered  something  in  his  ear. 

"  Certainly,  Count,  right  away,"  Wil 
lard  answered.  "  Come  along." 

Bonetti  needed  no  second  bidding, 
but  followed  Willard  closely,  and  soon 
stood  expectant  before  Marguerite. 

"Miss  Andrews,"  said  Willard,  "may 
I  have  the  pleasure  of  presenting  Count 
Bonetti?" 

The  Count's  head  nearly  collided  with 
his  toes  in  the  bow  that  he  made. 

"Mr.  Willard,"  returned  Miss  An 
drews,  coldly,  ignoring  the  Count,  "  feel 
ing  as  I  do  that  Count  Bonetti  is  merely 
a  bogus  Count  with  acquisitive  instincts, 
brought  here,  like  myself,  for  literary 
purposes  of  which  I  cannot  approve,  I 


94  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

must  reply  to  your  question  that  you 
may  not  have  that  pleasure." 

With  which  remark  (concludes  Stu 
art  Harley)  Miss  Marguerite  Andrews 
swept  proudly  from  the  room,  ordered 
her  carriage,  and  went  home,  thereby 
utterly  ruining  the  second  story  of  her 
life  that  I  had  undertaken  to  write.  But 
I  shall  make  one  more  effort. 


AN  EXPERIMENT 

"  And  thus  I'll  curb  her  mad  and  headstrong 

humor. 

He  that  knows  better  how  to  tame  a  shrew, 

Now  let  htm  speak ;  'tis  charity  to  show'' 

— "  Taming  of  the  Shrew." 

"  WHAT  would  have  happened  if  she 
had  behaved  differently,  Stuart?"  I  ask 
ed,  after  I  had  read  the  pages  he  had  so 
kindly  placed  at  my  disposal. 

"  Oh,  nothing  in  particular  to  which 
she  could  reasonably  object,"  returned 
Harley.  "  The  incidents  of  a  truly  real 
istic  novel  are  rarely  objectionable,  ex 
cept  to  people  of  a  captious  nature.  I 


96  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

intended  to  have  Bonetti  dance  attend 
ance  upon  Miss  Andrews  for  the  balance 
of  the  season,  that's  all,  hoping  thereby 
to  present  a  good  picture  of  life  at  New 
port  in  July  and  part  of  August.  About 
the  middle  of  August  I  was  going  to 
transport  the  whole  cast  to  Bar  Harbor, 
for  variety's  sake.  That  would  have 
been  another  opportunity  to  get  a  good 
deal  of  the  American  summer  atmos 
phere  into  the  book.  I  wish  I  could 
afford  the  kind  of  summer  I  contem 
plated  giving  her." 

"You  didn't  intend  that  she  should 
fall  in  love  with  Bonetti  ?"  I  asked. 

"Not  to  any  serious  extent,"  said 
Harley,  deprecatingly.  "  Even  if  she 
had  a  little,  she'd  have  come  out  of  it  all 
right  as  soon  as  the  hero  turned  up,  and 
she  had  a  chance  to  see  the  difference 


An  Experiment  97 

between  a  manly  man  of  her  own  coun 
try  and  a  little  titled  fortune-hunter 
from  the  land  of  macaroni.  Bonetti 
wasn't  to  be  a  bad  fellow  at  all.  He 
was  merely  an  Italian,  which  he  couldn't 
help,  being  born  so,  and  therefore,  as  she 
said,  of  an  acquisitive  nature.  There  is 
no  villany  in  that,  however — that  is,  no 
reprehensible  villany.  He  was  after  a 
rich  marriage  because  he  was  fond  of  a 
life  of  ease.  She'd  have  found  him 
amusing,  at  any  rate." 

"  But  he  was  bogus  !"  I  suggested. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Harley,  impatient 
ly.  "  That's  what  vexes  me  more  than 
anything  else.  She  made  a  very  bad 
mistake  there.  As  a  Count,  Bonetti 
was  quite  as  real  as  his  financial  neces 
sities." 

"  It  was  a  beastly  awkward  situation, 

7 


g8  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

that  conservatory  scene,"  said  I.  "  Es 
pecially  for  Willard.  The  Count  might 
have  challenged  him.  What  became  of 
the  Count  when  it  was  over?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Harley.  "  I  left 
him  to  get  out  of  his  predicament  as 
best  he  could.  Possibly  he  did  chal 
lenge  Willard.  I  haven't  taken  the 
trouble  to  find  out.  If,  as  I  think,  how 
ever,  he's  a  living  person,  he'll  extricate 
himself  from  his  difficulty  all  right ;  if 
he's  not,  and  I  have  unwittingly  allowed 
myself  to  conjure  him  up  in  my  fancy, 
there's  no  great  harm  done.  If  he's 
nothing  more  than  a  marionette,  let 
him  fall  on  the  floor,  and  stay  there  un 
til  I  find  some  imaginative  writer  who 
will  take  him  off  my  hands — you,  for 
instance.  You  can  have  Bonetti  for  a 
Christmas  present,  with  my  compli- 


An  Experiment  99 

ments.  I'm  through  with  him ;  but  as 
for  Miss  Andrews,  she  has  been  so  con 
foundedly  elusive  that  she  has  aroused 
my  deepest  interest,  and  I  couldn't  give 
her  up  if  I  wanted  to.  I  never  encoun 
tered  a  heroine  like  her  in  all  my  life 
before,  and  the  one  object  of  my  future 
career  will  be  to  catch  her  finally  in  the 
meshes  of  a  romance.  Romance  will 
come  into  her  life  some  time.  She  is 
not  at  all  of  an  unsentimental  nature — 
only  fractious — new-womanish,  perhaps; 
but  none  the  less  lovable,  and  Cupid  will 
have  a  shot  at  her  when  she  least  ex 
pects  it ;  and  when  it  does  come,  I'll  be 
on  hand  to  report  the  attempted  assas 
sination  for  the  delectation  of  the  Her 
ring,  Beemer,  &  Chadwick  public." 

"  I  should  think  you  would  try  a  little 
persuasion,  just  for  larks,"  I  suggested. 


TOO  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

"  You  forget  I  am  a  realist,"  he  re 
plied,  as  he  went  out. 

Now  I  sincerely  admired  Stuart  Har- 
ley,  and  I  wished  to  the  bottom  of  my 
heart  to  help  him  if  I  could.  It  seemed 
to  me  that,  however  admirable  Miss  An 
drews  had  shown  herself  to  be  general 
ly  as  a  woman,  she  had  been  an  alto 
gether  unsatisfactory  person  in  the  role 
of  a  heroine.  I  respected  her  scruples 
about  marrying  men  she  did  not  care 
for,  and,  as  I  have  already  said,  no  one 
could  deny  her  the  right  to  her  own 
convictions ;  but  it  seemed  to  me  that 
in  the  Bonetti  incident  she  might  and 
truly  ought  to  have  acted  differently 
when  the  time  came  for  the  presenta 
tion.  There  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind 
that  her  little  speech  to  Willard,  in 
which  she  stated  that  the  Count  was  a 


An  Experiment  101 

fraud  and  might' not  be  presented.'  was 
a  deliberately  planned"  febuff,  and  there 
fore  not  in  ahy  s'eiise  fejcci^ajbis/^  p& 
could  have  avoided  it  by  telling  Willard 
before  leaving  home  that  she  did  not 
care  to  meet  the  Count.  To  make  a 
scene  at  Mrs.  Hewlett's  was  not  a  thing 
which  a  sober-minded,  self-contained 
woman  would  have  done ;  it  was  bad 
form  to  behave  so  rudely  to  one  of 
Mrs.  Hewlett's  guests,  and  was  so  in 
considerate  of  Willard  and  unreasonable 
in  other  ways  that  I  blamed  her  unre 
servedly. 

"  She  deserves  to  be  punished,"  I 
thought  to  myself,  as  Harley  went  de 
jectedly  out  of  the  room.  "  And  there 
is  no  kind  of  punishment  for  a  woman 
like  that  so  galling  to  her  soul  as  to  find 
herself  in  the  hands  of  a  relentless  des- 


102  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

pot  who  forpe,s  .her  -this  way  and  that, 
according  to  hisfwhim.  I'd  like  to  play 
KetSrucici  tQ  her  .Katherine  for  five  min 
utes.  She'd  soon  find  out  that  I'm  not 
a  realist  bound  by  a  creed  to  which  I 
must  adhere.  Whatever  I  choose  to  do 
I  can  do  without  violating  my  consci 
entious  scruples,  because  I  haven't  any 
conscientious  scruples  in  literature.  And, 
by  Jove,  I'll  do  it!  I'll  take  Miss  Mar 
guerite  Andrews  in  hand  myself  this 
very  afternoon,  and  I'll  put  her  through 
a  course  of  training  that  will  make  her 
rue  the  day  she  ever  trifled  with  Stuart 
Harley — and  when  he  takes  her  up  again 
she'll  be  as  meek  as  Moses." 

Strong  in  my  belief  that  I  could  bring 
the  young  woman  to  terms,  I  went  to 
my  desk  and  tried  my  hand  at  a  story, 
with  Miss  Andrews  as  its  heroine,  and  I 


An  Experiment  103 

was  not  particular  about  being  realistic 
either.  Neither  did  I  go  off  into  any 
trances  in  search  of  heroes  and  villains. 
I  did  what  Harley  could  not  do.  I 
brought  the  New  York  back  to  port  that 
very  day,  and  despatched  Robert  Os- 
borne,  the  despised  lover  of  the  first 
tale,  to  Newport. 

"  She  shall  have  him  whether  she  likes 
him  or  not,"  said  I,  gritting  my  teeth 
determinedly;  "and  she  won't  know 
whether  she  loves  him  or  Count  Bonetti 
best ;  and  she'll  promise  to  marry  both 
of  them ;  and  she  shall  go  to  Venice  in 
August,  despite  her  uncompromising  re 
fusal  to  do  so  for  Harley;  and  she  shall 
meet  Balderstone  there,  and,  no  matter 
what  her  opinion  of  him  or  of  his  liter 
ary  work,  she  shall  be  fascinated  by  the 
story  I'll  have  him  write,  and  under  the 


IO4  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

spell  of  that  fascination  she  shall  promise 
to  marry  him  also ;  whereupon  the  Wil- 
lards  will  turn  up  and  take  her  to  Hei 
delberg,  where  I'll  have  her  meet  the 
hero  she  couldn't  wait  for  at  the  Hewlett 
dance,  the  despised  Professor,  and  she 
shall  promise  to  be  his  wife  likewise; 
and  finally  I'll  put  her  on  board  a  steam 
er  at  Southampton,  bound  for  New 
York,  with  Mrs.  Corwin  and  the  twins ; 
and  the  second  day  out,  when  she  is 
feeling  her  very  worst,  all  four  of  her 
fiances  will  turn  up  at  the  same  time 
beside  her  chair.  Then  I  shall  leave  her 
to  get  out  of  her  trouble  the  best  way 
she  can.  I  imagine,  after  she  has  had  a 
taste  of  my  literary  regimen,  she'll  quite 
fall  in  love  with  the  Harley  method,  and 
behave  herself  as  a  heroine  should." 
I  sat  down  all  aglow  with  the  idea  of 


An  Experiment  105 

being  able  to  tame  Harley's  heroine  and 
place  her  in  a  mood  more  suited  for  his 
purposes.  The  more  I  thought  of  how 
his  failures  were  weighing  on  his  mind, 
the  more  viciously  ready  was  I  to  play 
the  tyrant  with  Marguerite,  and — well,  I 
might  as  well  confess  it  at  once,  with  all 
my  righteous  indignation  against  her,  I 
could  not  do  it.  Five  times  I  started, 
and  as  many  times  did  I  destroy  what  I 
wrote.  On  the  sixth  trial  I  did  haul  the 
New  York  relentlessly  back  into  port, 
never  for  an  instant  considering  the  in 
convenience  of  the  passengers,  or  the 
protests  of  the  officers,  crew,  or  postal 
authorities.  This  done,  I  seized  upon 
the  unfortunate  Osborne,  spirited  his 
luggage  through  the  Custom-house,  and 
sent  the  ship  to  sea  again.  That  part 
was  easy.  I  have  written  a  great  deal 


io6  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

for  the  comic  papers,  and  acrobatic  non 
sense  of  that  sort  comes  almost  without 
an  effort  on  my  part.  With  equal  ease 
I  got  Osborne  to  Newport — how,  I  do 
not  recollect.  It  is  just  possible  that  I 
took  him  through  from  New  York  with 
out  a  train,  by  the  mere  say-so  of  my 
pen.  At  any  rate,  I  got  him  there,  and 
I  fully  intended  to  have  him  meet  Miss 
Andrews  at  a  dance  at  the  Ocean  House 
the  day  after  his  arrival.  I  even  pro 
gressed  so  far  as  to  get  up  the  dance. 
I  described  the  room,  the  decorations, 
and  the  band.  I  had  Osborne  dressed 
and  waiting,  with  Bonetti  also  dressed 
and  waiting  on  the  other  side  of  the 
room,  Scylla  and  Charybdis  all  over 
again,  but  by  no  possibility  could  I  force 
Miss  Andrews  to  appear.  Why  it  was, 
I  do  not  pretend  to  be  able  to  say — she 


An  Experiment  107 

may  have  known  that  Bonetti  was  there , 
she  may  have  realized  that  I  was  try 
ing  to  force  Osborne  upon  her,  but 
whatever  it  was  that  enabled  her  to  do 
so,  she  resisted  me  successfully — or  my 
pen  did ;  for  that  situation  upon  which 
I  had  based  the  opening  scene  of  my 
story  of  compulsion  I  found  beyond  my 
ability  to  depict ;  and  as  Harley  had 
done  before  me,  so  was  I  now  forced  to 
do — to  change  my  plan. 

"  I'll  have  her  run  away  with  !"  I  cried, 
growing  vicious  in  my  wrath  ;  "and  both 
Bonetti  and  Osborne  shall  place  her  un 
der  eternal  obligations  by  rushing  out 
to  stop  the  horse,  one  from  either  side 
of  the  street.  She'll  have  to  meet  Bo» 
netti  then,"  I  added,  with  a  chuckle. 

And  I  tried  that  plan.  As  docile  as 
a  lamb  she  entered  the  phaeton,  which 


io8  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

I  conjured  up  out  of  my  ink-pot,  and 
like  a  veteran  jehu  did  she  seize  the 
reins.  I  could  not  help  admiring  her  as 
I  wrote  of  it — she  was  so  like  a  goddess ; 
but  I  did  not  relent.  Run  away  with 
she  must  be,  and  run  away  with  she  was. 
But  again  did  this  extraordinary  woman 
assert  herself  to  my  discomfiture ;  for 
the  moment  she  saw  Bonetti  rushing 
out  to  rescue  her  from  the  east,  she 
jerked  the  left  rein  so  violently  that  the 
horse  swerved  to  one  side,  toppled  over 
on  Osborne,  who  had  sprung  gallantly 
to  the  rescue  from  the  west ;  and  Bonet 
ti,  missing  his  aim  as  the  horse  turned, 
fell  all  in  a  heap  in  the  roadway  two 
yards  back  of  the  phaeton.  Miss  An 
drews  was  not  hurt,  but  my  story  was, 
for  she  had  not  even  observed  the  un 
happy  Osborne ;  and  as  for  Bonetti,  he 


An  Experiment  109 

cut  so  ridiculous  a  figure  that,  Italian 
though  he  was,  even  he  seemed  aware  of 
it,  and  he  shrank  dejectedly  out  of  sight. 
Again  had  this  supernaturally  elusive 
heroine  upset  the  plans  of  one  who 
had  essayed  to  embalm  her  virtues 
in  a  literary  mould.  I  could  not  bring 
her  into  contact  with  either  of  my 
heroes. 

I  threw  my  pen  down  in  disgust, 
slammed  to  the  cover  of  my  ink-well, 
and  for  two  hours  paced  madly  through 
the  maze-like  walks  of  the  Central  Park, 
angry  and  depressed ;  and  from  that  mo 
ment  until  I  undertook  the  narration  of 
this  pathetic  story  I  gave  Harley's  hero 
ine  up  as  unavailable  material  for  my 
purposes.  She  was  worse,  if  anything, 
in  imaginative  \vork  than  in  realism,  be 
cause  she  absolutely  defied  the  imagina- 


no  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

tion,  while  the  realist  she  would  be  glad 
to  help  so  long  as  his  realism  was  kept 
in  strict  accord  with  her  ideas  of  what 
the  real  really  was. 

It  was  some  days  before  I  saw  Harley 
again,  and  I  thought  he  looked  tired  and 
anxious — so  anxious,  indeed,  that  I  was 
afraid  he  might  possibly  be  in  financial 
straits,  for  I  knew  that  for  three  weeks 
he  had  not  turned  out  any  of  his  usual 
pot-boilers,  having  been  too  busy  trying 
to  write  the  story  for  Messrs.  Herring, 
Beemer,  &  Chadwick.  It  happened, 
oddly  enough,  that  I  had  two  or  three 
uncashed  checks  in  my  pocket ;  so,  feel 
ing  like  a  millionaire,  I  broached  the 
subject  to  him. 

"What's  the  matter,  old  fellow?"  I 
said.  ''You  seem  in  a  blue  funk. 
Has  the  mint  stopped  ?  If  it  has,  com- 


An  Experiment  in 

mand  me.  I'm  overburdened  with 
checks  this  week." 

"  Not  at  all ;  thanks  just  the  same," 
he  said,  wearily.  "  My  Tiffin  royalties 
came  in  Wednesday,  and  I'm  all  right 
for  a  while,  anyhow." 

"  What's  up,  then,  Stuart  ?"  I  asked. 
"  You  look  worried.  I've  just  offered  to 
share  my  prosperity  with  you,  you 
might  share  your  grief  with  me.  Lend 
me  a  peck  of  trouble  overnight,  will 
you  ?" 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing  much,"  he  said. 
"  It's  that  rebellious  heroine  of  mine. 
She's  weighing  on  my  mind,  that's  all. 
She's  very  real  to  me,  that  woman  ;  and, 
by  Jove !  I've  been  as  jealous  as  a  lover 
for  two  days  over  a  fancy  that  came  into 
my  head.  You'll  laugh  when  I  tell  you, 
but  I've  been  half  afraid  somebody  else 


H2  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

would  take  her  up  and — well,  treat  her 
badly.  There  is  something  that  tells 
me  that  she  has  been  forced  into  some 
brutal  situation  by  somebody,  some 
where,  within  the  past  two  or  three  days. 
I  believe  I'd  want  to  kill  a  man  who  did 
that." 

I  didn't  laugh  at  him.  I  was  the  man 
who  was  in  a  fair  way  to  get  killed  for 
"doing  that,"  and  I  thought  laughter 
would  be  a  little  bit  misplaced  ;  but  I 
am  not  a  coward,  and  I  didn't  flinch. 
I  confessed.  I  tried  to  ease  his  mind 
by  telling  him  what  I  had  attempted 
to  do. 

"  It  was  a  mistake,"  he  said,  shortly, 
when  I  had  finished.  "  And  you  must 
promise  me  one  thing,"  he  added,  very 
seriously. 

"I'll  promise  anything,"  I  said,  meekly. 


An  Experiment  113 

"  Don't  ever  try  anything  of  the  sort 
again,"  he  went  on,  gravely.  "  If  you 
had  succeeded  in  writing  that  story,  and 
subjected  her  to  all  that  horror,  I  should 
never  have  spoken  to  you  again.  As  it 
is,  I  realize  that  what  you  did  was  out  of 
the  kindness  of  your  heart,  prompted 
by  a  desire  to  be  of  service  to  me,  and 
I'm  just  as  much  obliged  as  I  can  be, 
only  I  don't  want  any  assistance." 

"  Until  you  ask  me  to,  Stuart,"  I  re 
plied,  "  I'll  never  write  another  line  about 
her ;  but  you'd  better  keep  very  mum 
about  her  yourself,  or  get  her  copyright 
ed.  The  way  she  upset  that  horse  on 
Osborne,  completely  obliterating  him, 
and  at  the  same  time  getting  out  of  the 
way  of  that  little  simian  Count,  in  spite 
of  all  I  could  do  to  place  her  under  ob 
ligations  to  both  of  them,  was  what  the 


ii4  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

ancients  would  have  called  a  caution. 
She  has  made  a  slave  of  me  forever, 
and  I  venture  to  predict  that  if  you 
don't  hurry  up  and  get  her  into  a  book, 
somebody  else  will ;  and  whoever  does 
will  make  a  name  for  himself  alongside 
of  which  that  of  Smith  will  sink  into 
oblivion." 

"Count  on  me  for  that,"  said  he. 
"  '  Faint  heart  never  won  fair  lady/  and 
I  don't  intend  to  stop  climbing  just  be 
cause  I  fear  a  few  more  falls." 


VI 
ANOTHER    CHAPTER     FROM     HARLEY 

"  Was  ever  woman  in  this  humour  woo'df 
Was  ever  woman  in  this  humour  won? 
I'll  have  her, — but  I  will  not  keep  her  long" 
—"Richard  III." 

THERE  was  no  doubt  about  it  that 
Harley,  true  to  his  purpose,  was  making 
a  good  fight  to  conquer  without  com 
pulsion,  and  appreciated  as  much  as  I 
the  necessity  of  reducing  his  heroine  to 
concrete  form  as  speedily  as  possible, 
lest  some  other  should  prove  more  suc 
cessful,  and  so  deprive  him  of  the  laurels 
for  which  he  had  worked  so  hard  and 
suffered  so  much.  In  his  favor  was  his 


n6  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

disposition.  He  was  a  man  of  great  de 
termination,  and  once  he  set  about  do 
ing  something  he  was  not  an  easy  man 
to  turn  aside,  and  now  that,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  he  found  himself  baffled 
at  every  point,  and  by  a  heroine  of  no 
very  great  literary  importance,  he  be 
came  more  determined  than  ever. 

"  I'll  conquer  yet,"  he  said  to  me,  a 
week  or  so  later ;  but  the  weariness  with 
which  he  spoke  made  me  fear  that  vic 
tory  was  afar  off. 

"  I Ve  no  doubt  of  it — ultimately,"  I 
answered,  to  encourage  him  ;  "  but  don't 
you  think  you'll  stand  a  better  chance 
if  you  let  her  rest  for  a  while,  and  then 
steal  in  upon  her  unawares,  and  catch 
her  little  romance  as  it  flies?  She  is  ap 
parently  nerved  up  against  you  now, 
and  the  more  conscious  she  is  of  your 


Another  Chapter  from  Harley         117 

efforts  to  put  her  on  paper,  the  more  she 
will  rebel.  In  fact,  her  rebelliousness 
will  become  more  and  more  a  matter  of 
whim  than  of  principle,  unless  you  let 
up  on  her  for  a  little  while.  Half  of  her 
opposition  now  strikes  me  as  obstinacy, 
and  the  more  you  try  to  break  her  spirit, 
even  though  you  do  it  gently,  the  more 
stubborn  will  she  become.  Put  this 
book  aside  for  a  few  weeks  anyhow. 
Why  not  tackle  something  else  ?  You'd 
do  better  work,  too,  after  a  little 
variety." 

"  This  must  be  finished  by  September 
1st,  that's  why  not,"  said  Stuart.  "  I've 
promised  Herring,  Beemer,  &  Chadwick 
to  send  them  the  completed  manu 
script  by  that  time.  Besides,  no  hero 
ine  of  mine  shall  ever  say  that  she 
swerved  me  from  doing  what  I  have  set 


n8  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

about  doing.  It  is  now  or  never  with 
Marguerite  Andrews." 

So  I  left  him  at  his  desk,  and  for  a 
week  was  busy  with  my  own  affairs. 
Late  the  following  Friday  night  I  drop 
ped  in  at  Harley's  rooms  to  see  how 
matters  were  progressing.  As  I  entered 
I  saw  him  at  his  desk,  his  back  turned 
towards  me,  silhouetted  in  the  lamp-light, 
scratching  away  furiously  with  his  pen. 

"  Ah !"  I  thought,  as  my  eye  took  in 
the  picture,  "  it  goes  at  last.  I  guess  I 
won't  disturb  his  train  of  thought." 

And  I  tried  to  steal  softly  out,  for  he 
had  not  observed  my  entrance.  As  luck 
would  have  it,  I  stepped  upon  the  sill 
of  the  door  as  I  passed  out,  and  it 
creaked. 

"Hello!"  cried  Harley,  wheeling  about 
in  his  chair,  startled  by  the  sound. 


Another  Chapter  from  Harley         119 

"Oh!  It's  you,  is  it?"  he  added,  as  he 
recognized  me.  "What  are  you  up  to? 
Come  back  here.  I  want  to  see  you." 

His  manner  was  cheerful,  but  I  could 
see  that  the  cheerfulness  was  assumed. 
The  color  had  completely  left  his 
cheeks,  and  great  rings  under  his  eyes 
betokened  weariness  of  spirit. 

"  I  didn't  want  to  disturb  you,"  said 
I,  returning.  "You  seem  to  have  your 
pen  on  a  clear  track,  with  full  steam 
up." 

"  I  had,"  he  said,  quietly.  "  I  was 
just  finishing  up  that  Herring,  Beemer, 
&  Chadwick  business." 

"Aha!"  I  cried,  grasping  his  hand 
and  shaking  it.  "  I  congratulate  you. 
Success  at  last,  eh?" 

"Well,  I've  got  something  done — and 
that's  it,"  he  said,  and  he  tossed  the  let- 


120  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

ter  block  upon  which  he  had  been 
writing  across  the  table  to  me.  "  Read 
that,  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of 
it." 

I  read  it  over  carefully.  It  was  a 
letter  to  Messrs.  Herring,  Beemer,  & 
Chadwick,  in  which  Stuart  asked  to  be 
relieved  of  the  commission  he  had  un 
dertaken  : 

"  I  find  myself  utterly  unable  to  com 
plete  the  work  in  the  stipulated  time," 
he  wrote,  "  for  reasons  entirely  beyond 
my  control.  Nor  can  I  at  this  writing 
say  with  any  degree  of  certainty  when 
I  shall  be  able  to  finish  the  story.  I 
have  made  constant  and  conscientious 
effort  to  carry  out  my  agreement  with 
you,  but  fruitlessly,  and  I  beg  that  you 
will  relieve  me  of  the  obligation  into 


Another  Chapter  from  Harley         121 

which  I  entered  at  the  signing  of  our 
contract.  Of  course  I  could  send  you 
something  long  enough  to  cover  the  re 
quired  space — words  come  easy  enough 
for  that  —  but  the  result  would  be 
unsatisfactory  to  you  and  injurious  to 
me  were  I  to  do  so.  Please  let  me  hear 
from  you,  releasing  me  from  the  obliga 
tion,  at  your  earliest  convenience,  as  I 
am  about  to  leave  town  for  a  fortnight's 
rest.  Regretting  my  inability  to  serve 
you  at  this  time,  and  hoping  soon  to  be 
able  to  avail  myself  of  your  very  kind 
offer,  I  beg  to  remain, 

"  Yours  faithfully, 

"STUART  HARLEY." 

"  Oh  !"  said  I.     "  You've  finished  it, 
then,  by— " 

"  By    giving  it   up,"    said    he,  sadly. 


122  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

"  It's  the  strangest  thing  that  ever  hap 
pened  to  me,  but  that  girl  is  impossible. 
I  take  up  my  pen  intending  to  say  that 
she  did  this,  and  before  I  know  it  she 
does  that.  I  cannot  control  my  story 
at  all,  nor  can  I  perceive  in  what  given 
direction  she  will  go.  If  I  could,  I 
could  arrange  my  scenario  to  suit,  but  as 
it  is,  I  cannot  go  on.  It  may  come  later, 
but  it  won't  come  now,  and  I'm  going 
to  give  her  up,  and  go  down  to  Barne- 
gat  to  fish  for  ten  days.  I  hate  to  give 
the  book  up,  though,"  he  added,  tapping 
the  table  with  his  pen-holder  reflectively. 
"  Chadwick's  an  awfully  good  fellow, 
and  his  firm  is  one  of  the  best  in  the 
country,  liberal  and  all  that,  and  here 
at  my  first  opportunity  to  get  on  their 
list,  I'm  completely  floored.  It's  beastly 
hard  luck,  I  think." 


Another  Chapter  from  Harley         123 

"Don't  be  floored,"  said  I.  "  Take 
my  advice  and  tackle  something  else. 
Write  some  other  book." 

"That's  the  devil  of  it!"  he  replied, 
angrily  pounding  the  table  with  his  fist. 
"  I  can't.  I've  tried,  and  I  can't.  My 
mind  is  full  of  that  woman.  If  I  don't 
get  rid  of  her  I'm  ruined — I'll  have  to 
get  a  position  as  a  salesman  somewhere, 
or  starve,  for  until  she  is  caught  between 
good  stiff  board  covers  I  can't  write  an 
other  line." 

"  Oh,  you  take  too  serious  a  view  of 
it,  Stuart,"  I  ventured.  "You're  mad 
and  tired  now.  I  don't  blame  you,  of 
course,  but  you  mustn't  be  rash.  Don't 
send  that  letter  yet.  Wait  until  you've 
had  the  week  at  Barnegat — you'll  feel 
better  then.  You  can  write  the  book  in 
ten  days  after  your  return ;  or  if  you 


124  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

still  find  you  can't  do  it,  it  will  be  time 
enough  to  withdraw  then." 

"What  hope  is  there  after  that?"  he 
cried,  tossing  a  bundle  of  manuscript 
into  my  lap.  "  Just  read  that,  and  tell 
me  what's  the  use.  I'd  mapped  out  a 
meeting  between  Marguerite  Andrews 
and  a  certain  Mr.  Arthur  Parker,  a  fel 
low  with  wealth,  position,  brains,  good 
looks — in  short,  everything  a  girl  could 
ask  for,  and  that's  what  came  of  it." 

I  spread  the  pages  out  upon  the  table 
before  me  and  read : 

CHAPTER  IV 
A    DECLARATION 

' '  /  have  not  seen 
So  likely  an  ambassador  of  love" 

— "Merchant  of  Venice." 

Parker  mounted  the  steps  lightly 
and  rang  the  bell.  Marguerite's  kind- 


Another  Chapter  from  Harley         125 

ness  of  the  night  before,  which  was  in 
marked  contrast  to  her  coolness  at  the 
MacFarland  dance,  had  led  him  to  be 
lieve  that  he  was  not  wholly  without 
interest  to  her,  and  'her  invitation  that 
he  should  call  upon  her  had  given  him  a 
sincere  pleasure ;  in  fact,  he  wondered 
that  he  should  be  so  pleased  over  so 
trivial  a  circumstance. 

"  I'm  afraid  I've  lost  my  heart 
again,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  That  is, 
again  if  I  ever  lost  it  before,"  he 
added. 

And  his  mind  reverted  to  a  little  epi 
sode  at  Bar  Harbor  the  summer  before, 
and  he  was  not  sorry  to  feel  that  that 
wound  was  cured — though,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  it  had  never  amounted  to  more 
than  a  scratch. 

A  moment   later   the  door    opened, 


126  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

and  Parker  entered,  inquiring  for  Miss 
Andrews  as  he  did  so. 

"  I  do  not  know,  but  I  will  see  if  Miss 
Andrews  is  at  home,"  said  the  butler, 
ushering  him  into  the  parlor.  That  im 
posing  individual  knew  quite  well  that 
Miss  Andrews  was  at  home,  but  he  also 
knew  that  it  was  not  his  place  to  say  so 
until  the  young  lady  had  personally  as 
sured  him  of  the  facts  in  so  far  as  they 
related  to  this  particular  caller.  All 
went  well  for  Parker,  however.  Miss 
Andrews  consented  to  be  at  home  to 
him,  and  five  minutes  later  she  entered 
the  drawing-room  where  Parker  was 
seated. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?"  she  said,  frigidly, 
ignoring  his  outstretched  hand. 

("  Think  of  that,  will  you  ?"  interposed 
Harley.  "  He'd  come  to  propose,  and 


Another  Chapter  from  Harley         127 

was  to  leave  engaged,  and  she  insists 
upon  opening  upon  him  frigidly,  ignor 
ing  his  outstretched  hand." 

I  couldn't  help  smiling.  "  Why  did 
you  let  her  do  it  ?"  I  asked. 

"  I  could  no  more  have  changed  it 
than  I  could  fly,"  returned  Stuart.  "  She 
ought  never  to  have  been  at  home  if  she 
was  going  to  behave  that  way.  I  couldn't 
foresee  the  incident,  and  before  I  knew 
it  that's  the  way  it  happened.  But  I 
thought  I  could  fix  it  up  later,  so  I  went 
on.  Read  along,  and  see  what  I  got  let 
into  next." 

I  proceeded  to  read  as  follows :) 

"You  see,"  said  Parker,  with  an  ad 
miring  glance  at  her  eyes,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  the  coolness  of  her  reception 
rather  abashed  him — "  you  see,  I  have 
not  delayed  very  long  in  coming." 


128  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

"So  I  perceive,"  returned  Marguerite, 
with  a  bored  manner.  "  That's  what  I 
said  to  Mrs.  Willard  as  I  came  down. 
You  don't  allow  your  friends  much 
leeway,  Mr.  Parker.  It  doesn't  seem 
more  than  five  minutes  since  we  were 
together  at  the  card  party." 

("  That's  cordial,  eh?"  said  Harley,  as 
I  read.  "  Nice  sort  of  talk  for  a  heroine 
to  a  hero.  Makes  it  easy  for  me,  eh?" 

"  I  must  say  if  you  manage  to  get  a 
proposal  in  now  you're  a  genius,"  said  I. 

*'  Oh — as  for  that,  I  got  reckless  when 
I  saw  how  things  were  going,"  returned 
Harley.  "  I  lost  my  temper,  and  took 
it  out  of  poor  Parker.  He  proposes,  as 
you  will  see  when  you  come  to  it ;  but  it 
isn't  realism  —  it's  compulsion.  I  sim 
ply  forced  him  into  it — poor  devil.  But 
go  on  and  read  for  yourself." 


Another  Chapter  from  Harley         129 

I  did  so,  as  follows :) 

This  was  hardly  the  treatment  Parker 
had  expected  at  the  hands  of  one  who 
had  been  undeniably  gracious  to  him 
at  the  card-table  the  night  before.  He 
had  received  the  notice  that  she  was  to 
be  his  partner  at  the  tables  with  misgiv 
ings,  on  his  arrival  at  Mrs.  Stoughton's, 
because  his  recollection  of  her  behavior 
towards  him  at  the  MacFarland  dance 
had  led  him  to  believe  that  he  was  person 
ally  distasteful  to  her ;  but  as  the  even 
ing  at  cards  progressed  he  felt  instinctive 
ly  drawn  towards  her,  and  her  vivacity 
of  manner,  cleverness  at  repartee,  and 
extreme  amiability  towards  himself  had 
completely  won  his  heart,  which  victory 
their  little  tete-a-t$te  during  supper  had 
confirmed.  But  here,  this  morning,  was 
a  complete  reversion  to  her  first  attitude. 

9 


130  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

What  could  it  mean  ?  Why  should  she 
treat  him  so  ? 

("  I  couldn't  answer  that  question  to 
save  my  life,"  said  Stuart.  "That  is, 
not  then,  but  I  found  out  later.  I  put 
it  in,  however,  and  let  Parker  draw  his 
own  conclusions.  I'd  have  helped  him 
out  if  I  could,  but  I  couldn't.  Go  on 
and  see  for  yourself." 

I  resumed.) 

Parker  could  not  solve  the  problem, 
but  it  pleased  him  to  believe  that  some 
thing  over  which  he  had  no  control 
had  gone  wrong  that  morning,  and  that 
this  had  disturbed  her  equanimity,  and 
that  he  was  merely  the  victim  of  cir 
cumstances;  and  somehow  or  other  it 
pleased  him  also  to  think  that  he  could 
be  the  victim  of  her  circumstances,  so 
he  stood  his  ground. 


Another  Chapter  from  Harley         131 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  day,"  he  began, 
after  a  pause. 

"  Is  it?"  she  asked,  indifferently. 

("Frightfully  snubbish,"  said  I,  ap 
palled  at  the  lengths  to  which  Miss  An 
drews  was  going. 

"  Dreadfully,"  sighed  Harley.  "  And 
so  unlike  her,  too.") 

"Yes,"  said  Parker,  "so  very  beautiful 
that  it  seemed  a  pity  that  you  and  I 
should  stay  indoors,  with  plenty  of 
walks  to  be  taken  and — " 

Marguerite  interrupted  him  with  a 
sarcastic  laugh. 

"With  so  much  pity  and  so  many 
walks,  Mr.  Parker,  why  don't  you  take  a 
few  of  them !"  she  said. 

("  Good  Lord  !"  said  I.  "  This  is  the 
worst  act  of  rebellion  yet.  She  seems 
beside  herself." 


132  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

"  Read  on !"  said  Harley,  in  sepulchral 
tones.) 

This  was  Parker's  opportunity. 

"  I  am  not  fond  of  walking,  Miss  An 
drews,"  he  said ;  and  then  he  added, 
quickly,  "that  is,  alone  —  I  don't  like 
anything  alone.  Living  alone,  like  walk 
ing  alone,  is — " 

"  Let's  go  walking,"  said  Marguerite, 
shortly,  as  she  rose  up  from  her  chair. 
"  I'll  be  down  in  two  minutes.  I  only 
need  to  put  my  hat  on." 

Parker  acquiesced,  and  Miss  Andrews 
walked  majestically  out  of  the  parlor  and 
went  up-stairs. 

"Confound  it!"  muttered  Parker,  as 
she  left  him.  "  A  minute  more,  and  I'd 
have  known  my  fate." 

("You  see,"  said  Harley, "  I'd  made  up 
rny  mind  that  that  proposal  should  take 


Another  Chapter  from  Harley         133 

place  in  that  chapter,  and  I  thought 
I'd  worked  right  up  to  it,  in  spite  of  all 
Miss  Andrews's  disagreeable  remarks 
when,  pop — off  she  goes  to  put  on  her 
hat." 

"Oh— as  for  that  — that's  all  right," 
said  I.  "  Parker  had  suggested  the  walk, 
and  a  girl  really  does  like  to  stave  off 
a  proposal  as  long  as  she  can  when 
she  knows  it  is  sure  to  come.  Fur 
thermore,  it  gives  you  a  chance  to  de 
scribe  the  hat,  and  so  make  up  for  a 
few  of  the  words  you  lost  when  she  re 
fused  to  discuss  ball-dresses  with  Mrs. 
Willard." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that ;  but  don't 
you  think  I  worked  up  to  the  proposal 
skilfully  ?"  asked  Harley. 

"Very,"  said  I.  "  But  you're  dreadful 
ly  hard  on  Parker.  It  would  have  been 


134  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

better  to  have  had  the  butler  fire  him 
out,  head  over  heels.  He  could  have 
thrashed  the  butler  for  doing  that,  but 
with  your  heroine  his  hands  were 
tied." 

"  Go  on  and  read,"  said  Harley.) 
"  She  must  have  known  what  I  was 
driving  at,"  Parker  reflected,  as  he  await 
ed  her  return.  "  Possibly  she  loves  me 
in  spite  of  this  frigid  behavior.  This 
may  be  her  method  of  concealing  it ; 
but  if  it  is,  I  must  confess  it's  a  case  of 

'  Perhaps  it  was  right  to  dissemble  your  love, 
But— why  did  you  kick  me  down-stairs  ?' 

Certainly,  knowing,  as  she  now  must, 
what  my  feelings  are,  her  being  willing 
to  go  for  a  walk  on  the  cliffs,  or  any 
where,  is  a  favorable  sign. 

("  Parker    merely    echoed    my    own 


Another  Chapter  from  Harley          135 

hope  in  that  remark,"  said  Harley.  "  If 
I  could  get  them  engaged,  I  was  satis 
fied  to  do  it  in  any  way  that  might  be 
pleasing  to  her.") 

A  moment  later  Marguerite  appeared, 
arrayed  for  the  walk.  Parker  rose  as  she 
entered  and  picked  up  his  gloves. 

"  You  are  a  perfect  picture  this  morn 
ing,"  said  he. 

"  I'm  ready,"  she  said,  shortly,  ignor 
ing  the  compliment.  "Where  are  we 
scheduled  to  walk  ? — or  are  we  to  have 
something  to  say  about  it  ourselves?" 

Parker  looked  at  her  with  a  wonder 
ing  smile.  The  aptness  of  the  remark 
did  not  strike  him.  However,  he  was 
equal  to  the  occasion. 

"  You  don't  believe  in  free  will,  then  ?" 
he  asked. 

("  It  was  the  only  intelligent  remark 


136  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

he  could  make,  under  the  circumstan 
ces,  you  see,"  explained  Harley. 

"  He  was  a  clever  fellow,"  said  I,  and 
resumed  reading.) 

"  I  believe  in  a  great  many  things  we 
are  supposed  to  do  without,"  said  Mar 
guerite,  sharply. 

They  had  reached  the  street,  and  in 
silence  walked  along  Bellevue  Avenue. 

"There  are  a  great  many  things," 
vouchsafed  Parker,  as  they  turned  out 
of  the  avenue  to  the  cliffs,  "  that  men 
are  supposed  not  to  do  without — " 

"Yes,"  said  Marguerite,  sharply — 
"  vices." 

"  I  did  not  refer  to  them,"  laughed 
Parker.  "In  fact,  Miss  Andrews,  the 
heart  of  man  is  supposed  to  be  incom 
plete  until  he  has  lost  it,  and  has  suc 
ceeded  in  getting  another  for  his  very — " 


:.-   ..  :  :     i 


THE    WALK    ON    THE   CLIFF 


Another  Chapter  from  Harley         137 

"Are  you  an  admirer  of  Max  Nor- 
dau  ?"  interposed  Marguerite,  quickly. 

("Whatever  led  you  to  put  that  in?" 
I  asked. 

"  Go  on,  and  you'll  see,"  said  Harley. 
"  I  didn't  put  it  in.  It's  what  she  said. 
I'm  not  responsible.") 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  Max 
Nordau,"  said  Parker,  somewhat  sur 
prised  at  this  sudden  turn  of  the  con 
versation. 

"Are  you  familiar  with  Schopen 
hauer?"  she  asked. 

("  It  was  awfully  rough  on  the  poor 
fellow,"  said  Harley,  "  but  I  couldn't 
help  him.  I'd  forced  him  in  so  far  that 
I  couldn't  get  him  out.  His  answer 
floored  me  as  completely  as  anything 
that  Miss  Andrews  ever  did.") 

"  Schopenhauer  ?"   said   Parker,  non- 


138  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

plussed.  "  Oh  yes,"  he  added,  an  idea 
dawning  on  his  mind.  "  That  is  to  say, 
moderately  familiar — though,  as  a  mat 
ter  of  fact,  I'm  not  at  all  musical." 

Miss  Andrews  laughed  immoderately, 
in  which  Parker,  thinking  that  he  had 
possibly  said  something  witty,  although 
he  did  not  know  what  it  was,  joined.  In 
a  moment  the  laughter  subsided,  and 
for  a  few  minutes  the  two  walked  on  in 
silence.  Finally  Parker  spoke,  resign 
edly. 

"Miss  Andrews,"  he  said,  "perhaps 
you  have  noticed — perhaps  not — that 
you  have  strongly  interested  me." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  turning  upon  him 
desperately.  "  I  have  noticed  it,  and 
that  is  why  I  have  on  two  separate  oc 
casions  tried  to  keep  you  from  saying 


Another  Chapter  from  Harley         139 

"  And  why  should  I  not  tell  you  that 
I  love — "  began  Parker. 

"Because  it  is  hopeless,"  retorted 
Marguerite.  "  I  am  perfectly  well 
aware,  Mr.  Parker,  what  we  are  down 
for,  and  I  suppose  I  cannot  blame  you 
for  your  persistence.  Perhaps  you  don't 
know  any  better;  perhaps  you  do  know 
better,  but  are  willing  to  give  yourself 
over  unreservedly  into  the  hands  of  an 
other;  perhaps  you  are  being  forced 
and  cannot  help  yourself.  It  is  just 
possible  that  you  are  a  professional 
hero,  and  feel  under  obligations  to  your 
employer  to  follow  out  his  wishes  to  the 
letter.  However  it  may  be,  you  have 
twice  essayed  to  come  to  the  point,  and 
I  have  twice  tried  to  turn  you  aside. 
Now  it  is  time  to  speak  truthfully.  I 
admire  and  like  you  very  much,  but  I 


140  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

have  a  will  of  my  own,  am  nobody's 
puppet,  and  if  Stuart  Harley  never 
writes  another  book  in  his  life,  he  shall 
not  marry  me  to  a  man  I  do  not  love ; 
and,  frankly,  I  do  not  love  you.  I  do 
not  know  if  you  are  aware  of  the  fact, 
but  it  is  true  nevertheless  that  you 
are  the  third  fianct  he  has  tried  to 
thrust  upon  me  since  July  3d.  Like  the 
others,  if  you  insist  upon  blindly  fol 
lowing  his  will,  and  propose  marriage 
to  me,  you  shall  go  by  the  board. 
I  have  warned  you,  and  you  can  now 
do  as  you  please.  You  were  say- 
ing-?" 

"  That  I  love  you  with  all  my  soul," 
said  Parker,  grimly. 

("  He  didn't  really  love  her  then,  you 
know,"  said  Harley.  "  He'd  been  cured 
of  that  in  five  minutes.  But  I  was  re- 


Another  Chapter  from  Harley         141 

solved  that  he  should  say  it,  and  he  did. 
That's  how  he  came  to  say  it  grimly. 
He  did  it  just  as  a  soldier  rushes  up  to 
the  cannon's  mouth.  He  added,  also :") 

"Will  you  be  my  wife?" 

"Most  certainly  not,"  said  Marguer 
ite,  turning  on  her  heel,  and  leaving  the 
young  man  to  finish  his  walk  alone. 

("And  then,"  said  Harley,  with  a 
chuckle,  "  Parker's  manhood  would  as 
sert  itself  in  spite  of  all  I  could  do. 
He  made  an  answer,  which  I  wrote 
down." 

"  I  see/'  said  I,  "  but  you've  scratched 
it  out.  What  was  that  line  ?" 

"  '  "  Thank  the  Lord  !"  said  Parker  to 
himself,  as  Miss  Andrews  disappeared 
around  the  corner,'"  said  Stuart  Har 
ley.  "  That's  what  I  wrote,  and  I  flat 
ter  myself  on  the  realism  of  it,  for  that's 


142  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

just  what  any  self-respecting  hero  would 
have  said  under  the  circumstances." 

A  silence  came  over  us. 

"  Do  you  wonder  I've  given  it  up," 
asked  Stuart,  after  a  while. 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "I  do.  Such  opposi 
tion  would  nerve  me  up  to  a  battle  royal. 
I  wouldn't  give  it  up  until  I'd  returned 
from  Barnegat,  if  I  were  you,"  I  added, 
anxious  to  have  him  renew  his  efforts  ; 
for  an  idea  had  just  flashed  across  my 
mind,  which,  although  it  involved  a 
breach  of  faith  on  my  part,  I  neverthe 
less  believed  to  be  good  and  justifiable, 
since  it  might  relieve  Stuart  Harley  of 
his  embarrassment. 

"  Very  well,"  I  rejoiced  to  hear  him 
say.  "  I  won't  give  it  up  until  then,  but 
I  haven't  much  hope  after  that  last 
chapter." 


Another  Chapter  from  Harley  143 

So  Harley  went  to  Barnegat,  after  de 
stroying  his  letter  to  Messrs.  Herring, 
Beemer,  &  Chadwick,  whilst  I  put  my 
breach  of  faith  into  operation.) 


VII 
A  BREACH  OF  FAITH 

"Having  sworn  too  hard-a-keeping  oath, 
Study  to  break  it,  and  not  to  break  my  troth" 
— "  Love's  Labor's  Lost." 

WHEN  I  assured  Harley  that  I  should 
keep  my  hands  off  his  heroine  until  he 
requested  me  to  do  otherwise,  after  my 
fruitless  attempt  to  discipline  her  into  a 
less  refractory  mood,  I  fully  intended  to 
keep  my  promise.  She  was  his,  as  far 
as  she  possessed  any  value  as  literary 
material,  and  he  had  as  clear  a  right 
to  her  exclusive  use  as  if  she  had  been 
copyrighted  in  his  name — at  least  so  far 
as  his  friends  were  concerned  he  had. 


A  Breach  of  Faith  145 

Others  might  make  use  of  her  for  liter 
ary  purposes  with  a  clear  conscience  if 
they  chose  to  do  so,  but  the  hand  of  a 
friend  must  be  stayed.  Furthermore, 
my  own  experience  with  the  young  wom 
an  had  not  been  successful  enough  to 
lead  me  to  believe  that  I  could  conquer 
where  Harley  had  been  vanquished. 
Physical  force  I  had  found  to  be  un 
availing.  She  was  too  cunning  to  stum 
ble  into  any  of  the  pitfalls  that  with  all 
my  imagination  I  could  conjure  up  to 
embarrass  her ;  but  something  had  to  be 
done,  and  I  now  resolved  upon  a  course 
of  moral  suasion,  and  wholly  for  Har 
ley 's  sake.  The  man  was  actually  suf 
fering  because  she  had  so  persistently 
defied  him,  and  his  discomfiture  was  all 
the  more  deplorable  because  it  meant 
little  short  of  the  ruin  of  his  life  and 


146  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

ambitions.  The  problem  had  to  be 
solved  or  his  career  was  at  an  end.  Har- 
ley  never  could  do  two  things  at  once. 
The  task  he  had  in  hand  always  ab 
sorbed  his  whole  being  until  he  was  able 
to  write  the  word  finis  on  the  last  page 
of  his  manuscript,  and  until  the  finis  to 
this  elusive  book  he  was  now  struggling 
with  was  written,  I  knew  that  he  would 
write  no  other.  His  pot-boilers  he  could 
do,  of  course,  and  so  earn  a  living,  but 
pot-boilers  destroy  rather  than  make  rep 
utations,  and  Harley  was  too  young  a 
man  to  rest  upon  past  achievements ; 
neither  had  he  done  such  vastly  superi 
or  work  that  his  fame  could  withstand 
much  diminution  by  the  continuous  pro 
duction  of  ephemera.  It  was  therefore 
in  the  hope  of  saving  him  that  I  broke 
faith  with  him  and  temporarily  stole  his 


A  Breach  of  Faith  147 

heroine.  I  did  not  dream  of  using  her  at, 
all,  as  you  might  think,  as  a  heroine  of 
my  own,  but  rather  as  an  interesting 
person  with  ideas  as  to  the  duty  of 
heroines  —  a  sort  of  Past  Grand  Mis 
tress  of  the  Art  of  Heroinism  —  who 
was  worth  interviewing  for  the  daily 
press.  I  flatter  myself  it  was  a  good 
idea,  worthy  almost  of  a  genius,  though 
I  am  perfectly  well  aware  that  I  am 
not  a  genius.  I  am  merely  a  man 
of  exceptional  talent.  I  have  talent 
enough  for  a  genius,  but  no  taste 
for  the  unconventional,  and  by  just  so 
much  do  I  fall  short  of  the  realization 
of  the  hopes  of  my  friends  and  fears  of 
my  enemies.  There  are  stories  I  have 
in  mind  that  are  worthy  of  the  most 
exalted  French  masters,  for  instance, 
and  when  I  have  the  time  to  be  careful, 


148  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

which  I  rarely  do,  I  can  write  with  the 
polished  grace  of  a  De  Maupassant  or  a 
James,  but  I  shall  never  write  them, 
because  I  value  my  social  position  too 
highly  to  put  my  name  to  anything 
which  it  would  never  do  to  publish  out 
side  of  Paris.  I  do  not  care  to  prove 
my  genius  at  the  cost  of  the  respect  of 
my  neighbors — all  of  which,  however, 
is  foreign  to  my  story,  and  is  put  in  here 
merely  because  I  have  observed  that 
readers  are  very  much  interested  in 
their  favorite  authors,  and  like  to  know 
as  much  about  them  as  they  can. 

My  plan,  to  take  up  the  thread  of  my 
narrative  once  more,  was,  briefly,  to 
write  an  interview  between  myself,  as 
a  representative  of  a  newspaper  syndi 
cate,  and  Miss  Marguerite  Andrews,  the 
"Well-Known  Heroine."  It  has  been 


A  Breach  of  Faith  149 

quite  common  of  late  years  to  interview 
the  models  of  well-known  artists,  so  that 
it  did  not  require  too  great  a  stretch  of 
the  imagination  to  make  my  scheme  a 
reasonable  one.  It  must  be  remember 
ed,  too,  that  I  had  no  intention  of  using 
this  interview  for  my  own  aggrandize 
ment.  I  planned  it  solely  in  the  inter 
ests  of  my  friend,  hoping  that  I  might 
secure  from  Miss  Andrews  some  un 
guarded  admission  that  might  oper 
ate  against  her  own  principles,  as 
Harley  and  I  knew  them,  and  that, 
that  secured,  I  might  induce  her  to 
follow  meekly  his  schedule  until  he 
could  bring  his  story  to  a  reasonable 
conclusion.  Failing  in  this,  I  was  go 
ing  to  try  and  discover  what  style  of 
man  it  was  she  admired  most,  what 
might  be  her  ideas  of  the  romance  in 


150  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

which  she  would  most  like  to  figure, 
and  all  that,  so  that  I  could  give  Har- 
ley  a  few  points  which  would  enable 
him  so  to  construct  his  romance  that 
his  heroine  would  walk  through  it  as 
easily  and  as  docilely  as  one  could  wish. 
Finally,  all  other  things  failing,  I  was 
going  to  throw  Harley  on  her  generosity, 
call  attention  to  the  fact  that  she  was 
ruining  him  by  her  stubborn  behavior, 
and  ask  her  to  submit  to  a  little  tem 
porary  inconvenience  for  his  sake. 

As  I  have  already  said,  so  must  I  re 
peat,  there  was  genius  in  the  idea,  but  I 
was  forced  to  relinquish  certain  features 
of  it,  as  will  be  seen  shortly.  I  took  up 
my  pen,  and  with  three  bold  strokes 
thereof  transported  myself  to  Newport, 
and  going  directly  to  the  Willard  Cot 
tage,  I  rang  the  bell.  Miss  Andrews 


A  Breach  of  Faith  151 

was  still  elusive.  With  all  the  resources 
of  imagination  at  hand,  and  with  not  an 
obstacle  in  my  way  that  I  could  not 
clear  at  a  bound,  she  still  held  me  at 
bay.  She  was  not  at  home  —  had,  in 
fact,  departed  two  days  previously  for 
the  White  Mountains.  Fortunately, 
however,  the  butler  knew  her  address, 
and,  without  bothering  about  trains, 
luggage,  or  aught  else,  in  one  brief  para 
graph  I  landed  myself  at  the  Profile 
House,  where  she  was  spending  a  week 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rushton  of  Brook 
lyn.  This  change  of  location  caused 
me  to  modify  my  first  idea,  to  its  ad 
vantage.  I  saw,  when  I  thought  the 
matter  over,  that,  on  the  whole,  the  in 
terview,  as  an  interview  for  a  newspaper 
syndicate,  was  likely  to  be  nipped  in  the 
bud,  since  the  moment  I  declared  my- 


152  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

self  a  reporter  for  a  set  of  newspapers, 
and  stated  the  object  of  my  call,  she 
would  probably  dismiss  me  with  the 
statement  that  she  was  not  a  profes 
sional  heroine,  that  her  views  were 
of  no  interest  to  the  public,  and  that, 
not  having  the  pleasure  of  my  acquaint 
ance,  she  must  beg  to  be  excused.  I 
wonder  I  didn't  think  of  this  at  the  out 
set.  I  surely  knew  Harley's  heroine 
well  enough  to  have  foreseen  this  possi 
bility.  I  realized  it,  however,  the  mo 
ment  I  dropped  myself  into  the  great 
homelike  office  of  the  Profile  House. 
Miss  Andrews  walked  through  the  office 
to  the  dining-room  as  I  registered,  and 
as  I  turned  to  gaze  upon  her  as  she  pass 
ed  majestically  on,  it  flashed  across  my 
mind  that  it  would  be  far  better  to  ap 
pear  before  her  as  a  fellow-guest,  and 


A  Breach  of  Faith  153 

find  out  what  I  wanted  and  tell  her  why 
I  had  come  in  that  guise,  rather  than 
introduce  myself  as  one  of  those  young 
men  who  earn  their  daily  bread  by  pok 
ing  their  noses  into  other  people's  busi 
ness. 

Had  this  course  been  based  upon  any 
thing  more  solid  than  a  pure  bit  of  im 
agination,  I  should  have  found  it  diffi 
cult  to  accommodate  myself  so  easily  to 
circumstances.  If  it  had  been  Harley 
instead  of  myself,  it  would  have  been 
impossible,  for  Harley  would  never  have 
stooped  to  provide  himself  with  a  trunk 
containing  fresh  linen  and  evening-dress 
clothes  and  patent-leather  pumps  by  a 
stroke  of  his  pen.  This  I  did,  however, 
and  that  evening,  having  created  an 
other  guest,  who  knew  me  of  old  and 
who  also  was  acquainted  with  Miss 


154  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

Andrews,  just  as  I  had  created  my  ex 
cellent  wardrobe,  I  was  presented. 

The  evening  passed  pleasantly  enough, 
and  I  found  Harley's  heroine  to  be  all 
that  he  had  told  me  and  a  great  deal 
more  besides.  In  fact,  so  greatly  did 
I  enjoy  her  society  that  I  intentionally 
prolonged  the  evening  to  about  three 
times  its  normal  length — which  was  a 
very  inartistic  bit  of  exaggeration,  I 
admit ;  but  then  I  don't  pretend  to  be  a 
realist,  and  when  I  sit  down  to  write  I 
can  make  my  evenings  as  long  or  as 
short  as  I  choose.  I  will  say,  however, 
that,  long  as  my  evening  was,  I  made 
it  go  through  its  whole  length  without 
having  recourse  to  such  copy-making 
subterfuges  as  the  description  of  door 
knobs  and  chairs ;  and  except  for  its  un 
holy  length,  it  was  not  at  all  lacking  in 


A  Breach  of  Faith  155 

realism.  Miss  Andrews  fascinated  me 
and  seemed  to  find  me  rather  good  com 
pany,  and  I  found  myself  suggesting  that 
as  the  next  day  was  Sunday  she  take 
me  for  a  walk.  From  what  I  knew  of 
Harley's  experience  with  her,  I  judged 
she'd  be  more  likely  to  go  if  I  asked 
her  to  take  me  instead  of  offering  to 
take  her.  It  was  a  subtle  distinction,  but 
with  some  women  subtle  distinctions 
are  chasms  which  men  must  not  try  to 
overleap  too  vaingloriously,  lest  disaster 
overtake  them.  My  bit  of  subtlety 
worked  like  a  charm.  Miss  Andrews 
graciously  accepted  my  suggestion,  and 
I  retired  to  my  couch  feeling  certain 
that  during  that  walk  to  Bald  Mountain, 
or  around  the  Lake,  or  down  to  the 
Farm,  or  wherever  else  she  might  choose 
to  take  me,  I  could  do  much  to  help 


156  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

poor  Stuart  out  of  the  predicament  into 
which  his  luckless  choice  of  Miss  An 
drews  as  his  heroine  had  plunged  him. 
And  I  wasn't  far  wrong,  as  the  event 
transpired,  although  the  manner  in 
which  it  worked  out  was  not  exactly  ac 
cording  to  my  schedule. 

I  dismissed  the  night  with  a  few  para 
graphs  ;  the  morning,  with  its  divine 
service  in  the  parlor,  went  quickly  and 
impressively  ;  for  it  is  an  impressive  sight 
to  see  gathered  beneath  those  towering 
cliffs  a  hundred  or  more  of  pleasure  and 
health  seekers  of  different  creeds  wor 
shipping  heartily  and  simply  together, 
as  accordantly  as  though  they  knew  no 
differences  and  all  men  were  possessed 
of  one  common  religion — it  was  too  im 
pressive,  indeed,  for  my  pen,  which  has 
been  largely  given  over  to  matters  of 


A  Breach  of  Faith  157 

less  moment,  and  I  did  not  venture  to 
touch  upon  it,  passing  hastily  over  to 
the  afternoon,  when  Miss  Andrews  ap 
peared,  ready  for  the  stroll. 

I  gazed  at  her  admiringly  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  I  began  : 

"Is  that  the  costume  you  wore" — I 
was  going  to  say,  "  when  you  rejected 
Parker?"  but  I  fortunately  caught  my 
error  in  time  to  pass  it  off — "  at  New 
port  ?"  I  finished,  with  a  half  gasp  at  the 
narrowness  of  my  escape  ;  for,  it  must  be 
remembered,  I  was  supposed  as  yet  to 
know  nothing  of  that  episode. 

"  How  do  you  know  what  I  wore  at 
Newport?"  she  asked,  quickly — so  quick 
ly  that  I  almost  feared  she  had  found 
me  out,  after  all. 

"  Why — ah — I  read  about  you  some 
where,"  I  stammered.  "  Some  news- 


158  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

paper  correspondent  drew  a  picture  of 
the  scene  on  the  promenade  in  the  after 
noon,  and — ah — he  had  you  down." 

"  Oh  !"  she  replied,  arching  her  eye 
brows;  "that  was  it,  was  it?  And  do 
you  waste  your  valuable  time  reading 
the  vulgar  effusions  of  the  society  re 
porter?" 

Wasn't  I  glad  that  I  had  not  come  as 
a  man  with  a  nose  to  project  into  the 
affairs  of  others  —  as  a  newspaper  re 
porter  ! 

"  No,  indeed,"  I  rejoined,  "  not  gen 
erally  ;  but  I  happened  to  see  this  par 
ticular  item,  and  read  it  and  remem 
bered  it.  After  all,"  I  added,  as  we 
came  to  the  sylvan  path  that  leads 
to  the  Lake — "  after  all,  one  might  as 
well  read  that  sort  of  stuff  as  most  of 
the  novels  of  the  present  day.  The 


A  Breach  of  Faith  159 

vulgar  reporter  may  be  ignorant  or  a 
boor,  and  all  that  is  reprehensible  in 
his  methods,  but  he  writes  about  real 
flesh  -  and -blood  people;  and,  what  is 
worse,  he  generally  approximates  the 
truth  concerning  them  in  his  writing, 
which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  the  so- 
called  realistic  novel  -  writers  of  the  day. 
I  haven't  read  a  novel  in  three  years  in 
which  it  has  seemed  to  me  that  the  hero 
ine,  for  instance,  was  anything  more  than 
a  marionette,  with  no  will  of  her  own, 
and  ready  to  do  at  any  time  any  foolish 
thing  the  author  wanted  her  to  do." 

Again  those  eyes  of  Miss  Andrews 
rested  on  me  in  a  manner  which  gave 
me  considerable  apprehension.  Then  she 
laughed,  and  I  was  at  ease  again. 

"You  are  very  amusing,"  she  said,  qui 
etly.  "  The  most  amusing  of  them  all." 


160  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

The  remark  nettled  me,  and  I  quickly 
retorted: 

"  Then  I  have  not  lived  m  vain." 

"  You  do  really  live,  then,  eh  ?"  she 
asked,  half  chaffingly,  gazing  at  me  out 
of  the  corners  of  her  eyes  in  a  fashion 
which  utterly  disarmed  me. 

"  Excuse  me,  Miss  Andrews,"  I  an 
swered,  "  but  I  am  afraid  I  don't  under 
stand  you." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  don't,"  she  said,  the 
smile  leaving  her  lips.  "  The  fact  that 
you  are  here  on  the  errand  you  have 
charged  yourself  with  proves  that." 

"  I  am  not  aware,"  I  said,  "  that  I 
have  come  on  any  particularly  ridiculous 
errand.  May  I  ask  you  what  you  mean 
by  the  expression  *  most  amusing  of 
them  all '  ?  Am  I  one  among  many,  and, 
if  so,  one  what  among  many  what  ?" 


A  Breach  of  Faith  161 

"  Your  errand  is  a  good  one,"  she 
said,  gravely,  "  and  not  at  all  ridiculous  ; 
let  me  assure  you  that  I  appreciate  that 
fact.  Your  question  I  will  answer  by 
asking  another :  Are  you  here  of  your 
own  volition,  or  has  Stuart  Harley 
created  you,  as  he  did  Messrs.  Osborne, 
Parker,  and  the  Professor  ?  Are  you  my 
new  hero,  or  what  ?" 

The  question  irritated  me.  This 
woman  was  not  content  with  interfer 
ing  seriously  with  my  friend's  happiness: 
she  was  actually  attributing  me  to  him, 
casting  doubts  upon  my  existence,  and 
placing  me  in  the  same  category  with 
herself  —  a  mere  book  creature.  To  a 
man  who  regards  himself  as  being  the 
real  thing,  flesh  and  blood,  and,  well, 
eighteen-carat  flesh  and  blood  at  that,  to 
be  accused  of  living  only  a  figmentary 


162  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

existence  is  too  much.  I  retorted  an 
grily. 

"  If  you  consider  me  nothing  more 
than  an  idea,  you  do  not  manifest 
your  usual  astuteness,"  I  said. 

Her  reply  laid  me  flat. 

"  I  do  not  consider  you  anything  of 
the  sort.  I  never  so  much  as  associated 
you  with  anything  resembling  an  idea. 
I  merely  asked  a  question/'  she  said.  "  I 
repeat  it.  Do  you  or  do  you  not  exist  ? 
Are  you  a  bit  of  the  really  real  or  a  bit 
of  Mr.  Harley's  realism  ?  In  short,  are 
you  here  at  Profile  Lake,  walking  and 
talking  with  me,  or  are  you  not  ?" 

A  realizing  sense  of  my  true  position 
crept  over  me.  In  reality  I  was  not 
there  talking  to  her,  but  in  my  den  in 
New  York  writing  about  her.  I  may 
not  be  a  realist,  but  I  am  truthful.  I 


A  Breach  of  Faith  163 

could  not  deceive  her,  so  I  replied,  hesi 
tatingly  : 

"  Well,  Miss  Andrews,  I  am — no,  I  am 
not  here,  except  in  spirit." 

"  That's  what  I  thought,"  she  said, 
demurely.  "And  do  you  exist  some 
where,  or  is  this  a  '  situation  '  calculated 
to  delight  the  American  girl — with  pin- 
money  to  spend  on  Messrs.  Herring, 
Beemer,  %  Chadwick's  publications?" 

"  I  do  exist,"  I  replied,  meekly  ;  for, 
I  must  confess  it,  I  realized  more  than 
ever  that  Miss  Andrews  was  too  much 
for  me,  and  I  heartily  wished  I  was  well 
out  of  it.  "  And  I  alone  am  responsi 
ble  for  this.  Harley  is  off  fishing  at 
Barnegat — and  do  you  know  why?" 

"  I  presume  he  has  gone  there  to  re 
cuperate,"  she  said. 

"  Precisely,"  said  I. 


164  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

"After  his  ungentlemanly,  discourte 
ous,  and  wholly  uncalled-for  interference 
with  my  comfort  at  Newport,"  she  said, 
her  face  flushing  and  tears  coming  into 
her  eyes,  "  I  don't  wonder  he's  pros 
trated." 

"  I  do  not  know  to  what  you  refer," 
said  I. 

"  I  refer  to  the  episode  of  the  run 
away  horse,"  she  said,  in  wrathful  re 
membrance  of  the  incident.  "  Because 
I  refuse  to  follow  blindly  his  will,  he 
abuses  his  power,  places  me  in  a  false 
and  perilous  situation,  from  which  I,  a 
defenceless  woman,  must  rescue  myself 
alone  and  unaided.  It  was  unmanly  of 
him — and  I  will  pay  him  the  compliment 
of  saying  wholly  unlike  him." 

I  stood  aghast.  Poor  Stuart  was 
being  blamed  for  my  act.  He  must  be 


A  Breach  of  Faith  165 

set  right  at  once,  however  unpleasant  it 
might  be  for  me. 

"  He— he  didn't  do  that,"  I  said,  slow 
ly ;  "  it  was  I.  I  wrote  that  bit  of  non 
sense  ;  and  he — well,  he  was  mad  be 
cause  I  did  it,  and  said  he'd  like  to  kill 
any  man  who  ill-treated  you  ;  and  he 
made  me  promise  never  to  touch  upon 
your  life  again." 

"  May  I  ask  why  you  did  that  ?"  she 
asked,  and  I  was  glad  to  note  that  there 
was  no  displeasure  in  her  voice — in  fact, 
she  seemed  to  cheer  up  wonderfully 
when  I  told  her  that  it  was  I,  and  not 
Stuart,  who  had  subjected  her  to  the 
misadventure. 

"  Because  I  was  angry  with  you,"  I 
answered.  "  You  were  ruining  my  friend 
with  your  continued  acts  of  rebellion : 
he  was  successful ;  now  he  is  ruined.  He 


i66  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

thinks  of  you  day  and  night — he  wants 
you  for  his  heroine ;  he  wants  to  make 
you  happy,  but  he  wants  you  to  be 
happy  in  your  own  way  ;  and  when  he 
thinks  he  has  discovered  your  way,  he 
works  along  that  line,  and  all  of  a  sud 
den,  by  some  act  wholly  unforeseen, 
and,  if  I  may  say  so,  unforeseeable,  you 
treat  him  and  his  work  with  contempt, 
draw  yourself  out  of  it  —  and  he  has  to 
begin  again." 

"And  why  have  you  ventured  to  break 
your  word  to  your  friend  ?"  she  asked, 
calmly.  "  Surely  you  are  touching  upon 
my  life  now,  in  spite  of  your  promise." 

"  Because  I  am  willing  to  sacrifice  my 
word  to  his  welfare,"  I  retorted  ;  "  to 
try  to  make  you  understand  how  you 
are  blocking  the  path  of  a  mighty  fine- 
minded  man  by  your  devotion  to  what 


A  Breach  of  Faith  167 

you  call  your  independence.  He  will 
never  ask  you  to  do  anything  that  he 
knows  will  be  revolting  to  you,  and  un 
til  he  has  succeeded  in  pleasing  you  to 
the  last  page  of  his  book  he  will  never 
write  again.  I  have  done  this  in  the 
hope  of  persuading  you,  at  the  cost 
even  of  some  personal  discomfort,  not 
to  rebel  against  his  gentle  leadership — 
to  fall  in  with  his  ideas  until  he  can  ful 
fil  this  task  of  his,  whether  it  be  realism 
or  pure  speculation  on  his  part.  If  you 
do  this,  Stuart  is  saved.  If  you  do  not, 
literature  will  be  called  upon  to  mourn 
one  who  promises  to  be  one  of  its  bright 
est  ornaments." 

I  stopped  short.  Miss  Andrews  was 
gazing  pensively  out  over  the  mirror- 
like  surface  of  the  Lake.  Finally  she 
spoke. 


i68  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

"  You  may  tell  Mr.  Harley/'she  said, 
with  a  sigh,  "  that  I  will  trouble  him  no 
more.  He  can  do  with  me  as  he  pleases 
in  all  save  one  particular.  He  shall  not 
marry  me  to  a  man  I  do  not  love.  If 
he  takes  the  man  I  love  for  my  hero, 
then  will  I  follow  him  to  the  death." 

"  And  may  I  ask  who  that  man  is  ?" 

"  You  may  ask  if  you  please,"  she 
replied,  with  a  little  smile.  "  But  I 
won't  answer  you,  except  to  say  that  it 
isn't  you." 

"  And  am  I  forgiven  for  my  runaway 
story?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  You  wouldn't  ex 
pect  me  to  condemn  a  man  for  loyalty 
to  his  friend,  would  you  ?" 

With  which  understanding  Miss  An 
drews  and  I  continued  our  walk,  and 
when  we  parted  I  found  that  the  little 


A  Breach  of  Faith  169 

interview  I  had  started  to  write  had 
turned  into  the  suggestion  of  a  romance, 
which  I  was  in  duty  bound  to  destroy — 
but  I  began  to  have  a  glimmering  of  an 
idea  as  to  who  the  man  was  that  Mar 
guerite  Andrews  wished  for  a  hero,  and 
I  regretted  also  to  find  myself  convinced 
of  the  truth  of  her  statement  that  that 
man  did  not  bear  my  name. 


VIII 
HARLEY  RETURNS   TO    THE   FRAY 

"  /  will  be  master  of  what  is  mine  own : 
She  is  my  goods,  my  chattels." 

— "  Taming  of  the  Shrew." 

AT  the  end  of  ten  days  Harley  re 
turned  from  Barnegat,  brown  as  a  berry 
and  ready  for  war,  if  war  it  was  still  to 
be.  The  outing  had  done  him  a  world 
of  good,  and  the  fish  stories  he  told  as 
we  sat  at  dinner  showed  that,  realist 
though  he  might  be,  he  had  yet  not  fail 
ed  to  cultivate  his  imagination  in  certain 
directions.  I  may  observe  in  passing, 
and  in  this  connection,  that  if  I  had  a  son 
whom  it  was  my  ambition  to  see  mak- 


Harley  Returns  to  the  Fray  171 

ing  his  mark  in  the  world  as  a  writer  of 
romance,  as  distinguished  from  the  real, 
I  should,  as  the  first  step  in  his  de 
velopment,  take  care  that  he  became  a 
fisherman.  The  telling  of  tales  of  the 
fish  he  caught  when  no  one  else  was 
near  to  see  would  give  him,  as  it  has 
given  many  another,  a  good  schooling 
in  the  realms  of  the  imagination. 

I  was  glad  to  note  that  Harley 's  wont 
ed  cheerfulness  had  returned,  and  that 
he  had  become  more  like  himself  than 
he  had  been  at  any  time  since  his  first 
failure  with  Miss  Andrews. 

''Your  advice  was  excellent,"  he  said, 
as  we  sipped  our  coffee  at  the  club  the 
night  of  his  return.  "  I  have  a  clear  two 
weeks  in  which  to  tackle  that  story,  and 
I  feel  confident  now  that  I  shall  get  it 
done.  Furthermore,  I  shall  send  the 


172  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

chapters  to  Herring,  Beemer,  &  Chad- 
wick  as  I  write  them,  so  that  there 
must  be  no  failure.  I  shall  be  com 
pelled  to  finish  the  tale,  whatever 
may  happen,  and  Miss  Andrews  shall 
go  through  to  the  bitter  end,  willy- 
nilly." 

"  Don't  be  rash,  Harley,"  I  said ;  for 
it  seemed  to  me  that  Miss  Andrews,  hav 
ing  consented  at  my  solicitation  to  be  a 
docile  heroine  for  just  so  long  as  Harley 
did  not  insist  upon  her  marrying  the 
man  she  did  not  love,  it  was  no  time 
for  him  to  break  away  from  the  prin 
ciples  he  had  so  steadfastly  adhered  to 
hitherto  and  become  a  martinet.  He 
struck  me  as  being  more  than  likely  to 
crack  the  whip  like  a  ring-master  in  his 
present  mood  than  to  play  the  indulgent 
author,  and  I  felt  pretty  confident  that 


Harley  Returns  to  the  Fray  173 

the  instant  the  snap  of  the  lash  reached 
the  ears  of  Marguerite  Andrews  his 
troubles  would  begin  again  tenfold,  both 
in  quality  and  in  quantity,  with  no  pos 
sible  hope  for  a  future  reconciliation  be 
tween  them. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  be  rash,"  said  Har 
ley.  "  I  never  was  rash,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  begin  now,  but  I  shall  use  my 
nerve.  That  has  been  the  trouble  with 
me  in  the  past.  I  haven't  been  firm.  I 
have  let  that  girl  have  her  own  way  in 
everything,  and  I'm  very  much  afraid 
I  have  spoiled  her.  She  behaves  like  a 
child  with  indulgent  parents.  In  the 
last  instance,  the  Parker  proposal,  she 
simply  ran  her  independence  into  the 
ground.  She  was  not  only  rebellious  to 
me,  but  she  was  impertinent  to  him. 
Her  attitude  toward  him  was  not  nature 


174  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

at  all ;  it  was  not  realism,  because  she 
is  a  woman  of  good  breeding,  and  would 
naturally  be  the  last  to  treat  any  man, 
distasteful  or  not,  with  such  excessive 
rudeness.  I  compelled  him  to  go  on 
and  propose  to  her,  though  after  he  had 
been  at  it  for  five  minutes  I  could  see 
that  he  wished  he  was  well  out  of  it. 
I  should  have  taken  her  in  hand  and 
controlled  her  with  equal  firmness,  de 
clining  to  permit  her  to  speak  so  openly. 
Frankness  is  good  enough,  especially  in 
women,  among  whom  you  rarely  find  it ; 
but  frankness  of  the  sort  she  indulged 
in  has  no  place  in  the  polite  circle  in 
which  she  moves." 

"  Nevertheless,  she  spoke  that  way — 
you  said  yourself  she  did,"  I  said,  seeing 
that  he  was  wrathful  with  Marguerite, 
and  wishing  to  assuage  his  anger  before 


Harley  Returns  to  the  Fray  175 

it  carried  him  to  lengths  he  might  regret. 
"  And  you've  got  to  take  her  as  she  is 
or  drop  her  altogether." 

"  She  did — I  repeat  that  she  did  speak 
that  way,  but  that  was  no  reason  why  I 
should  submit  to  it,"  Harley  answered. 
"  It  was  the  fault  of  her  mood.  She 
was  nervous,  almost  hysterical — thanks 
to  her  rebellious  spirit.  The  moment  I 
discovered  how  things  were  going  I 
should  have  gone  back  and  started 
afresh,  and  kept  on  doing  so  until  I  had 
her  submissive.  A  hunter  may  balk  at 
a  high  fence,  but  the  rider  must  not  give 
in  to  him  unless  he  wishes  to  let  the 
animal  get  the  better  of  him.  If  he  is 
wise  he  will  go  back  and  put  the  horse 
to  it  again  and  again,  until  he  finally 
clears  the  topmost  bar.  That  I  should 
have  done  in  this  instance,  and  that  I 


176  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

now  intend  to  do,  until  that  book  comes 
out  as  I  want  it." 

I  had  to  laugh  in  my  sleeve.  On  the 
whole,  Harley  was  very  like  most  other 
realists,  who  pretend  that  they  merely 
put  down  life  as  it  is,  and  who  go  through 
their  professional  careers  serenely  uncon 
scious  of  the  truth  that  their  fancies, 
after  all,  serve  them  when  their  facts 
are  lacking.  Even  that  most  eminent 
disciple  of  the  Realistic  Cult,  Mr.  Dar- 
row,  has  been  known  to  kill  off  a  hero 
in  a  railroad  accident  that  owed  its  being 
to  nothing  short  of  his  own  imagination, 
in  order  that  the  unhappy  wight  might 
not  offend  the  readers  of  the  highly 
moral  magazine,  in  which  the  story  first 
appeared,  by  marrying  a  widow  whom 
he  had  been  forced  by  Mr.  Darrow  to 
love  before  her  husband  died.  Mr. 


Harley  Returns  to  the  Fray  177 

Darrow  manufactured,  with  five  strokes 
of  his  pen,  an  engine  and  a  tunnel  to 
crush  the  life  out  of  the  poor  fellow, 
whom  an  immoral  romancer  would  have 
allowed  to  live  on  and  marry  the  lady, 
and  with  perfect  propriety  too,  since 
the  hero  and  the  heroine  were  both  of 
them  the  very  models  of  virtue,  in  spite 
of  the  love  which  they  did  not  seek,  and 
which  Mr.  Darrow  deliberately  and  al 
most  brutally  thrust  into  their  other 
wise  happy  lives.  Of  course  the  railway 
accident  was  needed  to  give  the  climax 
to  the  story,  which  without  it  might 
have  run  through  six  more  numbers  of 
the  magazine,  to  the  exclusion  of  more 
exciting  material ;  but  that  will  not  re 
lieve  Mr.  Darrow's  soul  of  the  stain  he 
has  put  upon  it  by  deserting  Dame 
Realism  for  a  moment  to  flirt  with 


178  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

Romance,  when  it  comes  to  the  Judg 
ment  Day. 

"  As  I  want  it  to  be,  so  must  it  be," 
quoth  Harley. 

"  Good,"  thought  I.  "  It  will  no  doubt 
be  excellent ;  but  be  honest,  and  don't 
insist  that  you've  taken  down  life  as  it 
is ;  for  you  may  have  an  astigmatism, 
for  all  you  know,  and  life  may  not  be  at 
all  what  it  has  seemed  to  you  while  you 
were  putting  it  down." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Harley,  leaning  back 
in  his  chair  and  drawing  a  long  breath, 
which  showed  his  determination,  "  to 
the  bitter  end  she  shall  go,  through  such 
complications  as  I  choose  to  have  her, 
encountering  whatever  villains  I  may 
happen  to  find  most  convenient,  and  to 
complete  her  story  she  shall  marry  the 
man  I  select  for  my  hero,  if  he  is  as 


Harley  Returns  to  the  Fray  179 

commonplace  as  the  average  salesman 
in  a  Brooklyn  universal  dry-goods  em 
porium." 

Imagine  my  feelings  if  you  can!  Hav 
ing  gone  as  a  self-appointed  ambassador 
to  the  enemy  to  secure  terms  of  peace, 
to  return  to  find  my  principal  donning 
his  armor  and  daubing  his  face  with 
paint  for  a  renewal  of  the  combat,  was 
certainly  not  pleasant.  What  could  I 
say  to  Marguerite  Andrews  if  I  ever 
met  her  in  real  life  ?  How  could  I  look 
her  in  the  eye?  The  situation  over 
powered  me,  and  I  hardly  knew  what 
to  say.  I  couldn't  beg  Harley  to  stick 
to  his  realism  and  not  indulge  in  com 
pulsion,  because  I  had  often  jeered  at 
him  for  not  infusing  a  little  more  of  the 
dramatic  into  his  stories,  even  if  it  had 
to  be  "  lugged  in  by  the  ears,"  as  he  put 


180  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

it.  Nor  was  he  in  any  mood  for  me  to 
tell  him  of  my  breach  of  faith — the  mere 
knowledge  that  she  had  promised  to  be 
docile  out  of  charity  would  have  stung 
his  pride,  and  I  thought  it  would  be 
better,  for  the  time,  at  least,  to  let  my 
interview  remain  a  secret.  Fortune 
favored  me,  however.  Kelly  and  the 
Professor  entered  the  dining  -  room  at 
this  moment,  and  the  Professor  held  in 
his  hand  a  copy  of  the  current  issue  of 
The  Literary  Man,  Messrs.  Herring, 
Beemer,  &  Chadwick's  fortnightly  pub 
lication,  a  periodical  having  to  do  wholly 
with  things  bookish. 

"Who  sat  for  this,  Stuart?"  called 
out  the  Professor,  tapping  the  frontis 
piece  of  the  magazine. 

"Who  sat  for  what?"  replied  Stuart, 
looking  up. 


Harley  Returns  to  the  Fray  181 

"  This  picture,"  said  the  Professor. 

"  It's  a  picture  of  a  finely  intellectual- 
looking  person  with  your  name  under  it, 
Harley,"  put  in  the  Doctor. 

"  Oh— that,"  said  Harley.  "  It  does 
flatter  me  a  bit." 

"  So  does  the  article  with  it,"  said 
Kelly.  "  Says  you  are  a  great  man — man 
with  an  idea,  and  all  that.  Is  that  true, 
or  is  it  just  plain  libel  ?  Have  you  an 
idea?" 

Harley  laughed  good-naturedly.  "  I 
had  one  once,  but  it's  lost,"  he  said. 
"As  to  that  picture,  they're  bringing 
out  a  book  for  me,"  he  added,  modestly. 
11  Good  ad.,  you  know." 

"When  you  are  through  with  that, 
Professor,"  I  put  in,  "  let  me  have  it, 
will  you  ?  I  want  to  see  what  it  says 
about  Harley." 


182  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

"  It's  a  first-rate  screed,"  replied  the 
Professor,  handing  over  the  publication. 
"  It  hits  Harley  right  on  the  head." 

"  I  don't  know  as  that's  pleasant," 
said  Harley. 

"  What  I  mean,  my  dear  boy,"  said 
the  Professor,  "  is  that  it  does  you  jus 
tice." 

And  it  really  did  do  Harley  justice, 
although,  as  he  had  suggested,  it  was 
written  largely  to  advertise  the  forth 
coming  work.  It  spoke  nicely  of  Har- 
ley's  previous  efforts,  and  judiciously, 
as  it  seemed  to  me.  He  had  not  got  to 
the  top  of  the  ladder  yet,  but  he  was 
getting  there  by  a  slow,  steady  develop 
ment,  and  largely  because  he  was  a  man 
with  a  fixed  idea  as  to  what  literature 
ought  to  be. 

"  Mr.  Harley  has  seen    clearly   from 


Harley  Returns  to  the  Fray  183 

the  outset  what  it  was  that  he  wished 
to  accomplish  and  how  to  accomplish 
it,"  the  writer  observed.  "  He  has 
swerved  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the 
left,  but  has  progressed  undeviatingly 
along  the  lines  he  has  mapped  out  for 
himself,  and  keeping  constantly  in  mind 
the  principles  which  seemed  to  him  at 
the  beginning  of  his  career  to  be  right. 
It  has  been  this  persistent  and  consistent 
adherence  to  principle  that  has  gained 
for  Mr.  Harley  his  hearing,  and  which 
is  constantly  rendering  more  certain  and 
permanent  his  position  in  the  world  liter 
ary.  Others  may  be  led  hither  and  yon 
by  the  fads  and  follies  of  the  scatter 
brained,  but  Realism  will  ever  have  one 
steadfast  champion  in  Stuart  Harley." 

"Read  that,"  I  said,  tossing  the  jour 
nal  across  the  table. 


184  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

He  read  it,  and  blushed  to  the  roots 
of  his  ears. 

"  This  is  no  time  to  desert  the  flag, 
Harley,"  said  I,  as  he  read.  "  Stick  to 
your  colors,  and  let  her  stick  to  hers. 
You'd  better  be  careful  how  you  force 
your  heroine." 

"  Ha,  ha  !"  he  laughed.  "  I  should 
think  so,  and  for  more  reasons  than  one. 
I  never  really  intended  to  do  horrible 
things  with  her,  my  boy.  Trust  me,  if 
I  do  lead  her,  to  lead  her  gently.  My 
persuasion  will  be  suggestive  rather  than 
mandatory." 

"And  that  hero — from  the  Brooklyn 
dry-goods  shop  ?"  I  asked,  with  a  smile. 

"  I'd  like  to  see  him  so  much  as — tell 
her  the  price  of  anything,"  cried  Har 
ley.  "  A  man  like  that  has  no  business 
to  live  in  the  same  hemisphere  with  a 


Harley  Returns  to  the  Fray  185 

woman  like  Marguerite  Andrews.  When 
I  threatened  her  with  him  I  was  con 
versing  through  a  large  and  elegant 
though  wholly  invisible  hat." 

I  breathed  more  freely.  She  was  still 
sacred  and  safe  in  his  hands.  Shortly 
after,  dinner  over,  we  left  the  table,  and 
went  to  the  theatre,  where  we  saw  what 
the  programme  called  the  "  latest  Lon 
don  realistic  success,"  in  which  three  of 
the  four  acts  of  an  intensely  exciting 
melodrama  depended  upon  a  woman's 
not  seeing  a  large  navy  revolver,  which 
lay  on  the  table  directly  before  her  eyes 
in  the  first.  The  play  was  full  of  blood 
and  replete  with  thunder,  and  we  truly 
enjoyed  it,  only  Harley  would  not  talk 
much  between  the  acts.  He  was  unusual 
ly  moody.  After  the  play  was  over  his 
tongue  loosened,  however,  and  we  went 


186  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

to  the  Players  for  a  supper,  and  there 
he  burst  forth  into  speech. 

"  If  Marguerite  Andrews  had  been 
the  heroine  of  that  play  she'd  have  seen 
that  gun,  and  the  audience  would  have 
had  to  go  home  inside  of  ten  minutes/* 
he  said.  Later  on  he  burst  out  with, 
"  If  my  Miss  Andrews  had  been  the 
heroine  of  that  play,  the  man  who  falls 
over  the  precipice  in  the  second  act 
would  have  been  alive  at  this  moment." 
And  finally  he  demanded :  "  Do  you 
suppose  a  heroine  like  Marguerite  An 
drews  would  have  overlooked  the  comma 
on  the  postal  card  that  woman  read  in 
the  third  act,  and  so  made  the  fourth 
act  possible  ?  Not  she.  She's  a  woman 
with  a  mind.  And  yet  they  call  that 
the  latest  London  realistic  success ! 
Realistic !  These  Londoners  do  not 


Harley  Returns  to  the  Fray  187 

seem  to  understand  their  own  language. 
If  that  play  was  realism,  what  sort  of  a 
nightmare  do  you  suppose  a  romantic 
drama  would  be?" 

"  Well,  maybe  London  women  in  real 
life  haven't  any  minds,"  I  said,  growing 
rather  weary  of  the  subject.  I  admired 
Miss  Andrews  myself,  but  there  were 
other  things  I  could  talk  about — "  like 
lemonade  and  elephants,"  as  the  small 
boy  said.  "  Let  it  go  at  that.  It  was 
an  interesting  play,  and  that's  all  plays 
ought  to  be.  Realism  in  plays  is  not  to 
be  encouraged.  A  man  goes  to  the 
theatre  to  be  amused  and  entertained, 
not  to  be  reminded  of  home  discom 
forts." 

Stuart  looked  at  me  reproachfully, 
ordered  a  fresh  cigar,  and  suggested 
turning  in  for  the  night.  I  walked  home 


i88  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

with  him  and  tried  to  get  him  inter 
ested  in  a  farce  I  was  at  work  on,  but 
it  was  of  no  use.  He  had  become  a 
monomaniac,  and  his  monomania  was 
his  rebellious  heroine.  Finally  I  blurted 
out: 

"  Well,  for  Heaven's  sake,  Stuart,  get 
the  woman  caged,  will  you  ?  For,  can 
didly,  I'd  like  to  talk  about  something 
else,  and  until  Marguerite  Andrews  is 
disposed  of  I  don't  believe  you'll  be 
able  to." 

"  I'll  have  half  the  work  done  by  this 
time  to-morrow  night,"  said  he.  "  I've 
got  ten  thousand  words  of  it  in  my  mind 
now." 

"  I'll  bet  you  there  are  only  two  words 
down  in  your  mind,"  said  I. 

"  What  are  they?"  he  asked. 

"  Marguerite  and  Andrews,"  said  I. 


Harley  Returns  to  the  Fray  189 

Stuart  laughed.  "  They're  the  only 
ones  I'm  sure  of,"  said  he.  And  then 
we  parted. 

But  he  was  right  about  what  he 
would  have  accomplished  by  that  time 
the  next  night ;  for  before  sundown  he 
had  half  the  story  written,  and,  what  is 
more,  the  chapters  had  come  as  easily 
as  any  writing  he  ever  did.  For  docil 
ity,  Marguerite  was  a  perfect  wonder. 
Not  only  did  she  follow  out  his  wishes ; 
she  often  anticipated  them,  and  in  cer 
tain  parts  gave  him  a  lead  in  a  new 
direction,  which,  Stuart  said,  gave  the 
story  a  hundred  per  cent,  more  charac 
ter. 

In  short,  Marguerite  Andrews  was 
keeping  her  promise  to  me  nobly.  The 
only  thing  I  regretted  about  it,  now 
that  all  seemed  plain  sailing,  was  its 


IQO  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

effect  on  Stuart.  Her  amiability  was 
proving  a  great  attraction  to  his  sus 
ceptible  soul,  and  I  was  beginning  to 
fear  that  Stuart  was  slowly  but  sure 
ly  falling  in  love  with  his  rebellious 
heroine,  which  would  never  do,  unless 
she  were  really  real,  on  which  point  I 
was  most  uncertain. 

"  It  would  be  a  terrible  thing,"  said  I 
confidentially  to  myself,  "  if  Stuart  Har- 
ley  were  to  fall  in  love  with  a  creation 
of  his  own  realism." 


IX 

A  SUMMONS  NORTH 

"  PORTIA.  A  quarrel,  ho,  already  f  Whats 
the  matter  f 

"GRATIANO.  About  a  hoop  of  gold,  a  paltry 
ring"  — " Merchant  of  Venice." 

THE  events  just  narrated  took  place 
on  the  1 5th  of  August,  and  as  Harley's 
time  to  fulfil  his  contract  with  Messrs. 
Herring,  Beemer,  &  Chadwick  was  grow 
ing  very  short — two  weeks  is  short  shrift 
for  an  author  with  a  book  to  write  for 
waiting  presses,  even  with  a  willing  and 
helpful  cast  of  characters — so  I  resolved 
not  to  intrude  upon  him  until  he  him 
self  should  summon  me.  I  knew  my 
self,  from  bitter  experience,  how  unwel- 


IQ2  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

come  the  most  welcome  of  one's  friends 
can  be  at  busy  hours,  having  had  many 
a  beautiful  sketch  absolutely  ruined  by 
the  untimely  intrusion  of  those  who 
wished  me  well,  so  I  resolutely  kept 
myself  away  from  his  den,  although  I 
was  burning  with  curiosity  to  know  how 
he  was  getting  on. 

On  occasions  my  curiosity  would  get 
the  better  of  my  judgment,  and  I  would 
endeavor,  with  the  aid  of  my  own  muses, 
to  hold  a  moment's  chat  with  Miss  An 
drews;  but  she  eluded  me.  I  couldn't 
find  her  at  all — as,  indeed,  how  should 
I,  since  Harley  had  not  taken  me  into 
his  confidence  as  to  his  intentions  in 
the  new  story?  He  might  have  laid 
the  scene  of  it  in  Singapore,  for  aught 
I  knew,  and,  wander  where  I  would  in 
my  fancy,  I  was  utterly  unable  to  dis- 


A  Summons  North  193 

cover  her  whereabouts,  until  one  even 
ing  a  very  weird  thing  happened  —  a 
thing  so  weird  that  I  have  been  pinch 
ing  myself  with  great  assiduity  ever 
since  in  order  to  reassure  myself  of  my 
own  existence.  I  had  come  home  from 
a  hard  day's  editorial  work,  had  dined 
alone  and  comfortably,  and  was  stretched 
out  at  full  length  upon  the  low  divan 
that  stands  at  the  end  of  my  workshop — 
the  delight  of  my  weary  bones  and  the 
envy  of  my  friends,  who  have  never 
been  able  to  find  anywhere  another  ex 
actly  like  it.  My  cigar  was  between 
my  lips,  and  above  my  head,  rising  in  a 
curling  cloud  to  the  ceiling,  was  a  mass 
of  smoke.  I  am  sure  I  was  not  dream 
ing,  although  how  else  to  account  for  it 
I  do  not  know.  What  happened,  to  put 
it  briefly,  was  my  sudden  transportation 


194  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

to  a  little  mountain  hotel  not  far  from 
Lake  George,  where  I  found  myself 
sitting  and  talking  to  the  woman  I  had 
so  futilely  sought. 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  she,  pleas 
antly,  as  I  materialized  at  her  side. 

"  I  am  as  well  as  a  person  can  be,"  I 
replied,  rubbing  my  eyes  in  confusion, 
"who  suddenly  finds  himself  two  hun 
dred  and  fifty  miles  away  from  the  spot 
where,  a  half-hour  before,  he  had  lain 
down  to  rest." 

Miss  Andrews  laughed.  "You  see 
how  it  is  yourself,"  she  said. 

"  See  how  what  is  myself?"  I  queried. 

"  To  be  the  puppet  of  a  person  who 
— writes,"  she  answered. 

"And  have  I  become  that?"  I  asked. 

"  You  have,"  she  smiled.  "  That's  why 
you  are  here." 


A  Summons  North  195 

The  idea  made  me  nervous,  and  I 
pinched  my  arm  to  see  whether  I  was 
there  or  not.  The  result  was  not  al 
together  reassuring.  I  never  felt  the 
pinch,  and,  try  as  I  would,  I  couldn't 
make  myself  feel  it. 

"  Excuse  me,"  I  said,  "  for  deviating 
a  moment  from  the  matter  in  hand,  but 
have  you  a  hat-pin  ?" 

"  No,"  she  answered  ;  "  but  I  have  a 
brooch,  if  that  will  serve  your  purpose. 
What  do  you  want  it  for?" 

"  I  wish  to  run  it  into  my  arm  for  a 
moment,"  I  explained. 

"  It  won't  help  you  any,"  she  an 
swered,  smiling  divinely.  "  I  must  have 
a  word  with  you  ;  all  the  hat-pins  in  the 
world  shall  not  prevent  me,  now  that 
you  are  here." 

"  Well,  wait  a  minute,  I  beg  of  you," 


196  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

I  implored.  "  You  intimated  a  moment 
ago  that  I  was  a  puppet  in  the  hands  of 
some  author.  Whose  ?  I've  a  reputation 
to  sustain,  and  shall  not  give  myself 
up  willingly,  unless  I  am  sure  that  that 
person  will  not  trifle  with  my  character." 

"  Exactly  my  position,"  said  she.  "As 
I  said,  you  can  now  understand  how  it 
is  yourself.  But  I  will  tell  you  in  whose 
hands  you  are  now — you  are  in  mine. 
Surely  if  you  had  the  right  to  send  me 
tearing  down  Bellevue  Avenue  at  New 
port  behind  a  runaway  horse,  and  then 
pursue  me  in  spirit  to  the  Profile  House, 
I  have  the  right  to  bring  you  here,  and 
I  have  accordingly  done  so." 

For  a  woman's,  her  logic  was  surpris 
ingly  convincing.  She  certainly  had  as 
much  right  to  trifle  with  my  comfort  as 
I  had  to  trifle  with  hers. 


A  Summons  North  197 

"You  are  right,  Miss  Andrews,"  I 
murmured,  meekly.  "  Pray  command 
me  as  you  will — and  deal  gently  with 
the  erring." 

"  I  will  treat  you  far  better  than  you 
treated  me,"  she  said.  "  So  have  no  fear 
— although  I  have  been  half  minded  at 
times  to  revenge  myself  upon  you  for 
that  runaway.  I  could  make  you  dread 
fully  uncomfortable,  for  when  I  take  my 
pen  in  hand  my  imagination  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  horrible  is  something  awful.  I 
shall  be  merciful,  however,  for  I  believe 
in  the  realistic  idea,  and  I  will  merely 
make  use  of  the  power  my  pen  possesses 
over  you  to  have  you  act  precisely  as 
you  would  if  you  were  actually  here." 

"Then  I  am  not  here?"  I  queried. 

"What  do  you  think?'  she  asked, 
archly. 


198  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

I  was  about  to  say  that  if  I  weren't, 
I  wished  most  heartily  that  I  were ;  but 
I  remembered  fortunately  that  it  would 
never  do  for  me  to  flirt  with  Stuart 
Harley's  heroine,  so  I  contented  myself 
with  saying,  boldly,  "  I  don't  know  what 
to  think." 

Miss  Andrews  looked  at  me  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then,  reaching  out  her  hand, 
took  mine,  pressed  it,  and  relinquished 
it,  saying,  "  You  are  a  loyal  friend  in 
deed." 

There  was  nothing  flirtatious  about 
the  act;  it  was  a  simple  and  highly 
pleasing  acknowledgment  of  my  for 
bearance,  and  it  made  me  somewhat 
more  comfortable  than  I  had  been  at 
any  time  since  my  sudden  transporta 
tion  through  the  air. 

"  You  remember  what  I  said  to  you?" 


A  Summons  North  199 

she  resumed.  "  That  I  would  cease  to 
rebel,  whatsoever  Mr.  Harley  asked  me 
to  do,  unless  he  insisted  upon  marrying 
me  to  a  man  I  did  not  love?" 

"  I  do,"  I  replied.  "  And,  as  far  as  I  am 
aware,  you  have  stuck  by  your  agree 
ment.  Stuart,  I  doubt  not,  has  by  this 
time  got  ready  for  his  finishing-touches." 

"Your  surmise  is  correct,"  she  an 
swered,  sadly ;  and  then,  with  some  spirit, 
she  added:  "And  they  are  finishing- 
touches  with  a  vengeance.  I  have  been 
loyal  to  my  word,  in  spite  of  much  dis 
comfort.  I  have  travelled  from  pillar 
to  post  as  meekly  as  a  lamb,  because  it 
fitted  in  with  Stuart  Harley's  conven 
ience  that  I  should  do  so.  He  has  taken 
me  and  my  friend  Mrs.  Willard  to  and 
through  five  different  summer  resorts, 
where  I  have  cut  the  figure  he  wished 


200  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

me  to  cut  without  regard  to  my  own 
feelings.  I  have  discussed  all  sorts  of 
topics,  of  which  in  reality  I  know  noth 
ing,  to  lend  depth  to  his  book.  I  have 
snubbed  men  I  really  liked,  and  appeared 
to  like  men  I  profoundly  hated,  for  his 
sake.  I  have  wittingly  endured  peril  for 
his  sake,  knowing  of  course  that  ulti 
mately  he  would  get  me  out  of  danger ; 
but  peril  is  peril  just  the  same,  and  to 
that  extent  distracting  to  the  nerves.  I 
have  been  upset  in  a  canoe  at  Bar  Har 
bor,  and  lost  on  a  mountain  in  Vermont. 
I  have  sprained  my  ankle  at  Saratoga, 
and  fainted  at  a  dance  at  Lenox;  but  no 
complaint  have  I  uttered — not  even  the 
suggestion  of  a  rebellion  have  I  given. 
Once,  I  admit,  I  was  disposed  to  resent 
his  desire  that  I  should  wear  a  certain 
costume,  which  he,  man  as  he  is,  could 


A  Summons  North  201 

not  see  would  be  wofully  unbecoming. 
Authors  have  no  business  to  touch  on 
such  things.  But  I  overcame  the  temp 
tation  to  rebel,  and  to  please  him  wore 
a  blue  and  pink  shirt-waist  with  a  floral 
silk  skirt  at  a  garden-party — I  suppose 
he  thought  floral  silk  was  appropriate 
to  the  garden  ;  nor  did  I  even  show 
my  mortification  to  those  about  me. 
Nothing  was  said  in  the  book  about  its 
being  Stuart  Harley's  taste ;  it  must 
needs  be  set  down  as  mine  ;  and  while 
the  pages  of  Harley's  book  contain  no 
criticism  of  my  costume,  I  know  well 
enough  what  all  the  other  women 
thought  about  it.  Still,  I  stood  it.  I  en 
dured  also  without  a  murmur  the  court 
ship  and  declaration  of  love  of  a  perfect 
booby  of  a  man ;  that  is  to  say,  he  was 
a  booby  in  the  eyes  of  a  woman  —  men 


2O2  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

might  like  him.  I  presume  that  as  Mr. 
Harley  has  chosen  him  to  stand  for  the 
hero  of  his  book,  he  must  admire  him  ; 
but  I  don't,  and  haven't,  and  sha'n't. 
Yet  I  have  pretended  to  do  so  ;  and 
finally,  when  he  proposed  marriage  to 
me  I  meekly  answered  '  yes,'  weeping  in 
the  bitterness  of  my  spirit  that  my  prom 
ise  bound  me  to  do  so  ;  and  Stuart  Har 
ley,  noting  those  tears,  calls  them  tears 
of  joy!" 

"  You  needn't  have  accepted  him,"  I 
said,  softly.  "  That  wasn't  part  of  the 
bargain." 

"Yes, it  was,"  she  returned, positively ; 
"that  is,  I  regarded  it  so,  and  I  must 
act  according  to  my  views  of  things. 
What  I  promised  was  to  follow  his 
wishes  in  all  things  save  in  marriage  to 
a  man  I  didn't  love.  Getting  engaged 


A  Summons  North  203 

is  not  getting  married,  and  as  he  wished 
me  to  get  engaged,  so  I  did,  expecting 
of  course  that  the  book  would  end  there, 
as  it  ought  to  have  done,  and  that  there 
fore  no  marriage  would  ever  come  of 
the  engagement." 

"  Certainly  the  book  should  end  there, 
then,"  said  I.  "  You  have  kept  to  the 
letter  of  your  agreement,  and  nobly," 
I  added,  with  enthusiasm,  for  I  now  saw 
what  the  poor  girl  must  have  suffered. 
"  Harley  didn't  try  to  go  further,  did 
he?" 

"  He  did,"  she  said,  her  voice  trem 
bling  with  emotion.  "  He  set  the  time 
and  place  for  the  wedding,  issued  the 
cards,  provided  me  with  a  trousseau — 
a  trousseau  based  upon  his  intuitions  of 
what  a  trousseau  ought  to  be,  and  there 
fore  about  as  satisfactory  to  a  woman 


204  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

of  taste  as  that  floral  silk  costume  of 
the  garden-party;  he  engaged  the  or 
ganist,  chose  my  bridesmaids — girls  I 
detested  —  and  finally  assembled  the 
guests.  The  groom  was  there  at  the 
chancel  rail •  Mr.  Willard,  whom  he  had 
selected  to  give  me  away,  was  waiting 
outside  in  the  lobby,  clad  in  his  frock- 
coat,  a  flower  in  his  button-hole,  and  his 
arm  ready  for  the  bride  to  lean  on ;  the 
minister  was  behind  the  rail ;  the  wed 
ding-march  was  sounding — " 

"  And  you  ?"  I  cried,  utterly  unable 
to  contain  myself  longer. 

"  I  was  speeding  past  Yonkers  on  the 
three-o'clock  Saratoga  express — bound 
hither,"  she  answered,  with  a  significant 
toss  of  her  head.  "  No  one  but  your 
self  knows  where  I  am,  and  I  have  sum 
moned  you  to  explain  my  action  before 


A  Summons  North  205 

you  hear  of  it  from  him.  I  do  not  wish 
to  be  misjudged.  Stuart  Harley  had 
his  warning,  but  he  chose  to  ignore  it, 
and  he  can  get  out  of  the  difficulty  he 
has  brought  upon  himself  in  his  own 
way — possibly  he  will  destroy  the  whole 
book  ;  but  I  wanted  you  to  know  that 
while  he  did  not  keep  the  faith,  I  did." 

I  suddenly  realized  the  appalling 
truth.  My  own  weakness  was  responsi 
ble  for  it  all.  I  had  not  told  Harley  of 
my  interview  and  her  promise,  feeling 
that  it  was  not  necessary,  and  fearing 
its  effect  upon  his  pride. 

"  I  may  add,"  she  said,  quietly,  "  that 
I  am  bitterly  disappointed  in  your 
friend.  I  was  interested  in  him,  and 
believed  in  him.  Most  of  my  acts  of 
rebellion — if  you  can  call  me  rebellious 
— were  prompted  by  my  desire  to  keep 


206  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

him  true  to  his  creed ;  and  I  will  tell  you 
what  I  have  never  told  to  another :  I  re 
garded  Stuart  Harley  almost  as  an  ideal 
man,  but  this  has  changed  it  all.  If  he 
was  what  I  thought  him,  he  could  not 
have  acted  with  so  little  conscience  as  to 
try  to  force  this  match  upon  me,  when  he 
must  have  known  that  I  did  not  love 
Henry  Dunning." 

"  He  didn't  know,"  I  said. 

"  He  should  have  been  sure  before 
providing  for  the  ceremony,  after  hear 
ing  what  I  had  promised  you  I  would 
and  would  not  do,"  said  Marguerite. 

"  But  —  I  never  told  him  anything 
about  your  promise !"  I  shouted,  des 
perately.  "  He  has  done  all  this  un 
wittingly." 

"  Is  that  true  ?  Didn't  you  tell  him  ?" 
she  cried,  eagerly  grasping  my  hand. 


A  Summons  North  207 

Her  manner  left  no  doubt  in  my  mind 
as  to  who  the  hero  of  her  choice  would 
be — and  again  I  sighed  to  think  that  it 
was  not  I. 

"  As  true  as  that  I  stand  here,"  I  said. 
"  I  never  told  him." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Oh,  well,  you  know  what  I  mean  !" 
I  said,  excitedly.  "  Wherever  I  do  stand, 
it's  as  true  as  that  I  stand  there." 

The  phrase  was  awkward,  but  it  ful 
filled  its  purpose. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  him?"  she 
asked. 

"  Because  I  didn't  think  it  necessary. 
Fact  is,"  I  added,  "  I  had  a  sort  of 
notion  that  if  you  married  anybody  in 
one  of  Harley's  books,  if  Harley  had 
his  own  way  it  would  be  to  the  man 
who — who  tells  the  sto — " 


208  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

A  loud  noise  interrupted  my  remark 
and  I  started  up  in  alarm,  and  in  an  in 
stant  I  found  myself  back  in  my  rooms 
in  town  once  more.  The  little  moun 
tain  house  near  Lake  George,  with  its 
interesting  and  beautiful  guest,  had 
faded  from  sight,  and  I  realized  that 
somebody  was  hammering  with  a  stick 
upon  my  door. 

"Hello  there!"  I  cried.  "What's 
wanted  ?" 

"  It's  I — Harley,"  came  Stuart's  voice. 
"  Let  me  in." 

I  unlocked  the  door  and  he  entered. 
The  brown  of  Barnegat  had  gone,  and 
he  was  his  broken  self  again. 

"  Well,"  I  said,  trying  to  ignore  his 
appearance,  which  really  shocked  me, 
"  how's  the  book?  Got  it  done?" 

He  sank  into  a  chair   with  a   groan. 


A  Summons  North  209 

"  Hang  the  book !  —  it's  all  up  with 
that;  I'm  going  to  Chadwick  to-morrow 
and  call  the  thing  off,"  he  said.  "  She 
won't  work — two  weeks'  steady  applica 
tion  gone  for  nothing." 

"  Oh,  come  !"  I  said  ;  "  not  as  bad  as 
that." 

"  Precisely  as  bad  as  that,"  he  retort 
ed.  "  What  can  a  fellow  do  if  his  hero 
ine  disappears  as  completely  as  if  the 
earth  had  opened  and  swallowed  her  up?" 

"Gone?"  I  cried,  with  difficulty  re 
pressing  my  desire  to  laugh. 

"  Completely — searched  high  and  low 
for  her — no  earthly  use,"  he  answered. 
"  I  can't  even  imagine  where  she  is." 

"All  of  which,  my  dear  Stuart,"  I 
said,  adopting  a  superior  tone  for  the 
moment,  "  shows  that  an  imagination 
that  is  worth  something  wouldn't  be  a 


210  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

bad  possession  for  a  realist,  after  all. 
I  know  where  your  heroine  is.  She  is 
at  a  little  mountain  house  near  Lake 
George,  and  she  has  fled  there  to  es 
cape  your  booby  of  a  hero,  whom  you 
should  have  known  better  than  to  force 
upon  a  girl  like  Marguerite  Andrews. 
You're  getting  inartistic,  my  dear  boy. 
Sacrifice  something  to  the  American 
girl,  but  don't  sacrifice  your  art.  Just 
because  the  aforesaid  girl  likes  her 
stories  to  end  up  with  a  wedding  is  no 
reason  why  you  should  try  to  con 
demn  your  heroine  to  life-long  misery." 

Stuart  looked  at  me  with  a  puzzled 
expression  for  a  full  minute. 

"  How  the  deuce  do  you  know  any 
thing  about  it  ?"  he  asked. 

I  immediately  enlightened  him.  I 
told  him  every  circumstance — even  my 


A  Summons  North  211 

suspicion  as  to  the  hero  of  her  heart, 
and  it  seemed  to  please  him. 

"  Won't  the  story  go  if  you  stop  it 
with  the  engagement?"  I  asked,  after  it 
was  all  over. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  thoughtfully.  "  But 
I  shall  not  publish  it.  If  it  was  all  so 
distasteful  to  her  as  you  say,  I'd  rather 
destroy  it." 

"  Don't  do  that,"  I  said.  "  Change 
the  heroine's  name,  and  nobody  but 
ourselves  will  ever  be  the  wiser." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  he. 

"That's  because  you've  no  imagina 
tion,"  I  retorted. 

Stuart  smiled.  "  It's  a  good  idea,  and 
I'll  do  it ;  it  won't  be  the  truest  realism, 
but  I  think  I  am  entitled  to  the  leeway 
on  one  lapse,"  he  said. 

"  You   are,"  I  rejoined.     "  Lapse  for 


212  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

the  sake  of  realism.  The  man  who  never 
lapses  is  not  real.  There  never  was  such 
a  man.  You  might  change  that  garden- 
party  costume  too.  If  you  can't  think 
of  a  better  combination  than  that,  leave 
it  to  me.  I'll  write  to  my  sister  and 
ask  her  to  design  a  decent  dress  for  that 
occasion." 

"  Thanks,"  said  Stuart,  with  a  laugh. 
"  I  accept  your  offer ;  but,  I  say,  what 
was  the  name  of  the  little  mountain 
house  where  you  found  her?" 

"I  don't  know,"  I  replied.  "You 
made  such  an  infernal  row  battering 
down  my  door  that  I  came  away  in  a 
hurry  and  forgot  to  ask." 

"  That  is  unfortunate,"  said  Stuart. 
"  I  should  have  liked  to  go  up  there  for 
a  while — she  might  help  me  correct  the 
proofs,  you  know." 


A  Summons  North  213 

That's  what  he  said,  but  he  didn  t  de 
ceive  me.  He  loved  her,  and  I  began 
again  to  hope  to  gracious  that  Harley 
had  not  deceived  himself  and  me,  and 
that  Marguerite  Andrews  was  a  bit  of 
real  life,  and  not  a  work  of  the  imagina 
tion. 

At  any  rate,  Harley  had  an  abiding 
faith  in  her  existence,  for  the  following 
Monday  night  he  packed  his  case  and 
set  out  for  Lake  George.  He  was  going 
to  explore,  he  said. 


BY  WAY  OF  EPILOGUE 

"Let  down  the  curtain,  the  farce  is  done." 

— RABELAIS. 

I  SUPPOSE  my  story  ought  to  end 
here,  since  Harley's  rebellious  heroine 
has  finally  been  subdued  for  the  use  of 
his  publishers  and  the  consequent  dec 
laration  of  dividends  for  the  Harley 
exchequer ;  but  there  was  an  epilogue 
to  the  little  farce,  which  nearly  turned 
it  into  tragedy,  from  which  the  princi 
pals  were  saved  by  nothing  short  of  my 
own  ingenuity.  Harley  had  fallen  des 
perately  in  love  with  Marguerite  An- 


By  Way  of  Epilogue  215 

drews,  and  Marguerite  Andrews  had 
fallen  in  love  with  Stuart  Harley,  and 
Harley  couldn't  find  her.  She  eluded 
his  every  effort,  and  he  began  to  doubt 
that  he  had  drawn  her  from  real  life, 
after  all.  She  had  become  a  Marjorie 
Daw  to  him,  and  the  notion  that  he 
must  go  through  life  cherishing  a  hope 
less  passion  was  distracting  to  him. 
His  book  was  the  greatest  of  his  suc 
cesses,  which  was  an  additional  cause  of 
discomfort  to  him,  since,  knowing  as  he 
now  did  that  his  study  was  not  a  faith 
ful  portrayal  of  the  inner  life  of  his 
heroine,  he  felt  that  the  laurels  that 
were  being  placed  upon  his  brow  had 
been  obtained  under  false  pretences. 

"  I  feel  like  a  hypocrite,"  he  said,  as 
he  read  an  enthusiastic  review  of  his  lit 
tle  work  from  the  pen  of  no  less  a  per- 


216  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

son  than  Mr.  Darrow,  the  high-priest  of 
the  realistic  sect.  "  I  am  afraid  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  look  Darrow  in  the  eye 
when  I  meet  him  at  the  club." 

"  Never  fear  for  that,  Stuart,"  I  said, 
laughing  inwardly  at  his  plight.  "  Brazen 
it  out ;  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip,  and  Dar 
row  will  never  know.  He  has  insight, 
of  course,  but  he  can't  see  as  far  in  as 
you  and  he  think." 

"  It's  a  devilish  situation,"  he  cried, 
impatiently  striding  up  and  down  the 
room,  "  that  a  man  of  my  age  should  be 
so  hopelessly  in  love  with  a  woman  he 
can't  find  ;  and  that  he  can't  find  her 
is  such  a  cruel  sarcasm  upon  his  literary 
creed !  What  cursed  idiosyncrasy  of 
fate  is  it  that  has  brought  this  thing 
upon  me?" 

"  It's   the  punishment  that  fits  your 


By  Way  of  Epilogue  217 

crime,  Harley,"  I  said.  "  You've  been 
rather  narrow-minded  in  your  literary 
ideas.  Possibly  it  will  make  a  more 
tolerant  critic  of  you  hereafter,  when 
you  come  to  flay  fellows  like  Balder- 
stone  for  venturing  to  think  differently 
from  you  as  to  the  sort  of  books  it  is 
proper  to  write.  He  has  as  much  right 
to  the  profits  he  can  derive  from  his 
fancy  as  you  have  to  the  emoluments 
of  your  insight." 

"  I'd  take  some  comfort  if  I  thought 
that  she  really  loved  me,"  he  said,  mourn 
fully. 

"  Have  no  doubt  on  that  score, 
Stuart,"  I  said.  "  She  does  love  you. 
I  know  that.  I  wish  she  didn't." 

"Then  why  can't  I  find  her?  Why 
does  she  hide  from  me  ?"  he  cried, 
fortunately  ignoring  my  devoutly  ex- 


2i8  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

pressed  wish,  which  slipped  out  before  I 
knew  it. 

"  Because  she  is  a  woman,"  I  replied. 
"  Hasn't  your  analytical  mind  told  you 
yet  that  the  more  a  woman  loves  a  man, 
the  harder  he's  got  to  work  to  find  it 
out  and — and  clinch  the  bargain  ?" 

"  I  suppose  you  are  right,"  he  said, 
gloomily.  "But  if  I  were  a  woman, 
and  knew  I  was  killing  a  man  by  keep 
ing  myself  in  hiding,  I'd  come  out  and 
show  myself  at  any  cost,  especially  if  I 
loved  him." 

"  Now  you  are  dealing  in  imagination, 
Harley,"  I  said  ;  "  and  that  never  was 
your  strong  point." 

Nevertheless,  he  was  right  on  one 
point.  The  hopelessness  of  his  quest 
was  killing  Harley — not  physically  ex 
actly,  but  emotionally,  as  it  were.  It 


By  Way  of  Epilogue  219 

was  taking  all  the  heart  out  of  him, 
and  his  present  state  of  mind  was  far 
more  deplorable  than  when  he  was 
struggling  with  the  book,  and  constant 
ly  growing  worse.  He  tried  every  de 
vice  to  find  her  —  the  Willards  were 
conjured  up,  and  knew  nothing ;  Mrs. 
Corwin  and  the  twins  were  brought 
back  from  Europe,  and  refused  to  yield 
up  the  secret ;  all  the  powers  of  a  realis 
tic  pen  were  brought  to  bear  upon  her, 
and  yet  she  refused  utterly  to  mate 
rialize. 

Finally,  I  found  it  necessary  to  act 
myself.  I  could  not  stand  the  sight  of 
Harley  being  gradually  eaten  up  by  the 
longing  of  his  own  soul,  and  I  tried  my 
hand  at  exploration.  I  had  no  better 
success  for  several  weeks  ;  and  then,  like 
an  inspiration,  the  whole  thing  came  to 


220  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

me.  "  She  won't  come  when  he  sum 
mons  her,  because  she  loves  him.  She 
won't  summon  him  to  come  to  her,  for 
the  same  reason.  Why  not  summon 
both  of  them  yourself  to  a  common 
ground  ?  Embalm  them  in  a  little  ro 
mance  of  your  own.  Force  them  if  need 
be,  but  get  them  there,  and  so  bring 
them  together,  and  let  them  work  out 
their  own  happiness,"  said  I  to  myself. 
The  only  difficulty  that  presented  itself 
was  as  to  whether  or  not  Marguerite 
would  allow  herself  to  be  forced.  It 
was  worth  the  trial,  however,  and  fort 
une  favored  me.  I  found  her  far  from 
rebellious.  My  pen  had  hardly  touched 
paper  when  she  materialized,  more  be- 
wilderingly  beautiful  than  ever.  I  laid 
the  scene  of  my  little  essay  at  Lake- 
wood,  and  I  found  her  sitting  down  by 


By  Way  of  Epilogue  221 

the  water,  dreamily  gazing  out  over  the 
lake.  In  her  lap  was  Stuart  Harley's 
book,  and  daintily  pasted  on  the  fly 
leaf  of  this  was  the  portrait  which  had 
appeared  in  the  August  issue  of  The 
Literary  Man,  which  she  had  cut  out 
and  preserved. 

Having  provided  the  heroine  with  a 
spot  conducive  to  her  comfort,  I  hast 
ened  to  transport  Harley  to  the  scene. 
It  was  easy  to  do,  seeing  how  deeply 
interested  I  was  in  my  plot  and  how 
willing  he  was.  I  got  him  there  look 
ing  like  a  Greek  god,  only  a  trifle  more 
interesting,  because  of  his  sympathy- 
arousing  pallor — the  pallor  which  comes 
from  an  undeserved  buffeting  at  the 
hands  of  a  mischievous  Cupid.  I  know 
it  well,  for  I  have  observed  it  several 
times  upon  my  own  countenance.  The 


222  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

moment  Harley  appeared  upon  the 
scene  I  chose  to  have  Marguerite  hastily 
clasp  the  book  in  her  hands,  raise  it  to 
her  lips,  and  kiss  the  picture — and  it 
must  have  been  intensely  true  to  life,  for 
she  did  it  without  a  moment's  hesita- 
tation,  almost  anticipating  my  conveni 
ence,  throwing  an  amount  of  passion 
into  the  act  which  made  my  pen  fairly 
hiss  as  I  dipped  it  into  the  ink.  Of 
course  Harley  could  not  fail  to  see  it — 
I  had  taken  care  to  arrange  all  that — and 
equally  of  course  he  could  not  fail  to 
comprehend  what  that  kiss  meant ;  could 
not  fail  to  stop  short,  with  a  convulsive 
effort  to  control  himself — heroes  always 
do  that ;  could  not  fail  thereby  to  at 
tract  her  attention.  After  this  nothing 
was  more  natural  than  that  she  should 
spring  to  her  feet,  "  the  blushes  of  a 


"I   AM   NOT  GOING  TO   TELL  THE  WHOLE   STORY 


By  Way  of  Epilogue  223 

surprised  love  mantling  her  cheeks"; 
it  was  equally  natural  that  she  should 
try  to  run,  should  slip,  have  him  catch 
her  arm  and  save  her  from  falling,  and 
— well,  I  am  not  going  to  tell  the  whole 
story.  I  have  neither  the  time,  the  in 
clination,  nor  the  talent  to  lay  bare 
to  the  world  the  love-affairs  of  my 
friend.  Furthermore,  having  got  them 
together,  I  discreetly  withdrew,  so  that 
even  if  I  were  to  try  to  write  up  the 
rest  of  the  courtship,  it  would  merely 
result  in  my  telling  you  how  I  imagined 
it  progressed,  and  I  fancy  my  readers 
are  as  well  up  in  matters  of  that  sort 
as  I  am.  Suffice  it  to  say,  therefore, 
that  in  this  way  I  brought  Stuart  Har- 
ley  and  Marguerite  Andrews  together, 
and  that  the  event  justified  the  means : 
and  that  the  other  day,  when  Mr.  and 


224  A  Rebellious  Heroine 

Mrs.  Harley  returned  from  their  honey 
moon,  they  told  me  they  thought  I 
ought  to  give  up  humor  and  take  to 
writing  love-stories. 

"  That  kissing  -  the  -  picture  episode," 
said  Stuart,  looking  gratefully  at  me, 
"  was  an  inspiration.  To  my  mind,  it 
was  the  most  satisfactory  thing  youVe 
ever  done." 

"I  like  that!"  cried  his  wife, with  a 
mischievous  twinkle  in  her  eye.  "  He 
didn't  do  it.  It  was  I  who  kissed  the 
picture.  He  couldn't  have  made  me  do 
anything  else  to  save  his  life." 

"  Rebellious  to  the  last !"  said  I,  with 
a  sigh  to  think  that  I  must  now  write 
the  word  "  Finis  "  to  my  little  farce. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  Rebellious  to 
the  last.  I  shall  never  consent  to  be 
the  heroine  of  a  book  again,  until — " 


"THEY  THOUGHT  I  OUGHT  TO  GIVE  UP  HUMOR 


By  Way  of  Epilogue  225 

She  paused  and  looked  at  Stuart. 

"  Until  what  ?"  he  asked,  tenderly. 

"  Until  you  write  your  autobiogra 
phy,"  said  she.  "  I  have  always  wanted 
to  be  the  heroine  of  that." 

And  throwing  down  my  pen,  I  dis 
covered  I  was  alone. 


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The  attractions  of  the  sketches  are  in  their  sim 
plicity  and  realism.  Nothing  is  oversaid  or  over 
drawn. — Chicago  Inter  Ocean. 

FLUTE  AND  VIOLIN,  and  Other  Kentucky 
Tales  and  Romances.  Illustrated.  Post  8vo, 
Cloth,  Ornamental,  $i  50 ;  Silk  Binding, 

$2    25. 

Shows  that  there  was  an  imaginative  height  and  a 
poetic  depth  to  be  touched  which  no  previous  hand 
had  reached  in  this  class  of  historic  fiction. — N.  Y. 
Evening  Post. 

PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

by  all  booksellers,  or  -will  be  mailed  by  the  pub 
lishers,  postage  prepaid,  on  receipt  of  the  Price. 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


